Loyalty's Shadow: Part I
by celestial-insanity
Summary: She was a woman cursed with an epochal destiny. He was just a guy struggling in classes. Folow their journey as they intertwine themselves in a destiny that will change the fate of Ferelden. Jowan/Amell friendship. Pre-Harrowing Circle, ages 14-17.
1. Three Apprentices

_**In which Jowan and Teresa get to know Abigail, who will become the Grey Warden**_

_I used to write poems when I was younger, and sometimes I still do. I write also, but _

_mostly on the events that have taken place in my lifetime. Had I known I could have changed the world, even a little bit, would I still have taken the paths that led me towards this life as a scribe? I know I would, even with all of the sacrifices that made it possible._

_When Abigail and I met it was a turning point I would not have imagined at my young age. I had Teresa, who was admittable to being insane, and I was shy. I didn't like attention or being the smart kid. I had trouble with the most basic of spells and I couldn't make a flame to save my life. So why would she be interested in me at all?_

_We began to talk to each other during a class demonstrating the demonic tendencies of blood mages, believe it or not. It couldn't have been more appropriate. And after that class, we were inseparable._

Bryce was a tall, well-built man just fresh out of his Harrowing, and the first thing he elected to do within his free time was offer to teach a few classes 'just to try it out.' Jowan sat near the front, studiously copying down notes as the man continued on with his lecture. The younger boy had to admit he was doing quite well, strutting about in his new yellow robes, stroking the staff hanging on the sling from his back. Jowan had stared at it enviously when he first walked in, but now resigned himself to schoolwork with a quiet longing evident only in the way his eyes seemed to linger on the long, elegant piece of enchanted wood.

"While blood mages and demons have no more inter-correspondence than we do with the demons, they _are_ more susceptible to a demon's sways," Bryce was saying loudly. "Teresa, _what_ is the definition of a blood mage?"

Teresa glanced up from her notes, a constipated expression on her face. Jowan watched expectantly, waiting for her to weird the new teacher out, and wondered idly if anybody else had warned this man what he was getting into. "I don't know..." she said helplessly. "They like to cut themselves?"

Bryce didn't even lose step. "Good idea." He nodded. "Jowan?"

"A blood mage is a maleficar who can control another person by using an energy source that isn't lyrium," he said. "Um, blood, ser."

"Good, very good description, my boy," Bryce said, smiling. "Now, why would a blood mage resort to using this extra energy source? Yes, Abigail?"

She glanced at Jowan before saying, "If a blood mage wants to control another person, he's just trying to be manipulative and sneaky. I bet you could reason that their self-glorification in their own powers is what gets them in trouble with the demons. Demons _are_ on a different thought-process than we are, but they understand a blood mage's baser motives for doing what they do. They'd know which strings to pluck."

Bryce's eyebrows raised another fraction. "Good job!" he congratulated. "Yes, that's _exactly_ what I meant."

Teresa slapped a hand on her head. "Big words... help me! What's... uh, self-whadywhatit again?" Behind them, a few apprentices chuckled.

"I think she said 'self-glorification,'" their teacher said. "It means that they wish to elevate themselves up to a higher standing in their own eyes. They're arrogant, deceitful, and will do whatever it takes for power."

"I've heard of Grey Wardens who have had to use blood magic in the past, ser," Abigail said quietly. "So couldn't a maleficar be judged on base-by-base basis instead of being sentenced on the spot? I don't get why there is a blanket execution on all of those who practice it."

_Oh no._ Jowan _knew_ she was stepping into dangerous turf now, and peeked at Bryce to see his reaction. The classroom had gone deathly quiet and even Teresa looked like she was paying attention.

Their teacher had turned around, hands clasped behind his back, and Jowan began to get a very _nasty _feeling about the coming events. He took a deep breath and said, "Blood magic is a type practiced by the Tevinter Imperium long ago, when Andraste began the First Exalted March. Most of the cases in the past have been determined to have fit into the disturbing parameters and have been judged forthwith to have been worthy of Tranquility or Death. We execute because we must. The Grey Warden you are talking about would have been pressed into a tight space indeed if he had to resort to such cruel methods."

"His name was Therum," she said, and not in a tone that would garner disapproval. She seemed to honestly want to debate the fact and not because she thought she was right. She was getting ready for an arguement.

Jowan revised his earlier thought: he wondered if anybody had warned him about _her._

She took a quick breath before laughing into her story. "He was an Enchanter here at the Circle a hundred years after the last Blight. He was fighting a bad one and all of his mana was depleted. He didn't have any energy to continue to fight or to help save the girl he loved, so he resorted to blood magic. But he only used the kind that's self-inflicted. He never controlled a person nor tried to make them do something they themselves didn't want to do, but he kept practicing blood magic until he died."

"I see," Bryce said. "That must have been a special case, and he was in trying circumstances. But–"

"But ser, if what is according to that story _is_ true, then is it true you can just be a blood mage without any kind of training?"

"No," Bryce said firmly. Jowan and Teresa exchanged a surprised look. "No, you need to be trained, you need to–ugh, I am _not_ about to tell you how to be a blood mage."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, wincing. "I didn't mean it like that, though."

Oh, she was _slick._ The wheels were already in motion. Allan, a taller boy with curly black hair, raised his hand. Bryce, seemingly grateful for the subject change, called on him. "I just wanted to say," the boy said honestly, "that she's got a good point."

"Confound it," Bryce cursed. He walked to the door and closed it, his shoulders sagging. "Kids, I don't want to get into this discussion. If one _word_ about this gets to Irving or Greagoir they'll probably think you're all just blood mages looking for a way to accept their nature–or at least leaning that way! Do you understand me? Take this conversation to First Enchanter Irving if you want to, but leave me out of it!"

He looked around to room, daring anybody to interrupt, and Jowan caught sight of Abigail's face. She was looking straight ahead, her jaw working. "Ser," he said softly, "I don't think she was trying to argue with you. Why is it that the Grey Warden could use it without training?"

"Yeah," Allan said. "You could, like, _tell us_ so we won't do it and die."

Bryce shook his head. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm not familiar with the scroll–"

"I have it right here!" To everybody's astonishment, Teresa stood up and began to rifle through her bag.

"And how did you get this...?" Bryce asked, raising an eyebrow. "Was this _planned?_"

"Planned?" Teresa asked innocently, bringing out the yellowed parchment. "Nope!" She lengthened out the piece of paper on her wooden desk and read aloud the passage being described. Jowan closed his eyes, picturing it in his head. Therum the mage battling against the darkspawn ambush that threatened him and his beloved dwarf companion Agalfa as they made their way back to Orzammar. Jowan didn't know why they were down there, but the battle was described there, and then Therum's blood magic usage.

"_Therum was spent and his magic useless against the darkspawn, but he knew of other ways,_" Teresa spoke. "_He cut himself and drew on the blood energy, allowing it to replenish his strength, and he escaped with Agalfa._"

"That's certainly a way, yes," Bryce said, flustered, "but I don't _know._ We don't teach blood magic here–_I don't know it!_"

"If blood magic is here then does that mean the Maker gave it to us?" Caterina Tomsson asked pointedly. "I bet the Templars would _love_ that." She laughed.

"No, I don't–"

"Monkies!" Teresa shouted.

"What–_monkies?_" Bryce looked at Jowan for answers, and the younger boy just shrugged his shoulders. _Don't ask me, this is normal._ "Okay, first of all, children, I don't answer questions of that nature. My classes are based strictly on the curriculum given to me and those are the questions I will _answer._"

He glared at Abigail as if it were her fault, but she continued to stare at the wall, unperturbed. "Anything else, Miss Amell?"

"No, ser," she said stiffly.

"Very good then," he said, mimicking her tone. "So, picking up where we went off, if we assume that the earlier statement is true, then we can also define..."

The rest of the class went longer than Jowan could have though possible and was spent in complete silence. Tension hung in the air as dangerous as static electricity and the spring had been removed from Bryce's step. Teresa's foot was bouncing up and down, tapping out the time it would take for the class to end; Jowan watched Abigail out of the corner of his eye in-between taking notes; and Abigail just made an occasional entry on her parchment, somehow managing to look both bored, deferent, and angry at the same time. Even as he watched her face began to smooth out as she calmed down until finally she was almost back to normal.

When the great bells began to ring, signaling the end of the day, Bryce was the first one to leave. The rest of the Apprentices followed behind him, save two. Teresa came over to join him, as did Abigail. That was a surprise. Teresa was the only friend you could really ask for in a prison such as the Circle, with her humor and bad jokes. That Abigail came over was a different story. As she approached Jowan could feel his heart beginning to race.

Abigail was a figure separate from the other Apprentices, like he and Teresa were. She literally had no close friends at all, even though she could get along with just about anybody. In fact, Jowan could tell she had a curious impact on people. She wasn't being manipulative per say, but somehow just being around her was refreshing. It was as if she was a clear pond on a hot summer day.

Jowan never could realize how she did it, but she did, even now as she was affecting him. She smiled gratefully and his heart began to slow into a softer beat, a _thrum-thrum_ in the background.

She was by far the smartest person in their classes with the largest vocabulary, and she was also the most easy-going. To see her get into a debate with a teacher and be told down wasn't just shocking–it was _unheard of._ That was why Jowan had pitched in there at the end to defend her, even if it didn't seem to help at all.

"Thanks for helping me out, you two," she said in an earnest little voice. "Sometimes I wonder if getting into these debates is what my dad had in mind when he took me to work with him. Sounds like Bryce will be a very interesting teacher this time around."

What was also strange about Abigail was her voice. It wasn't high-pitched or clear as the voices of other girls, but somehow more soft and subtle, with a hint of huskiness. It was a voice that rarely had to raise to be heard.

Teresa laughed out loud. "That was the best idea _ever_, Abby!"

Jowan was beginning to feel a bit out of the loop. "What was?"

"I convinced Teresa to check out _A History of Grey Warden Magi _when I heard the Bryce would be teaching," she said shyly. "But even when I did I still didn't think you'd have it with you. So thanks."

"Really?" Jowan asked, nonplussed. "Devious. I like it."

"Hey, let's go to the practice areas," Teresa suggested. Jowan quickly agreed. "Come on, Abs, hang out with us," she said when an uncertain look crossed over Abigail's face. It was as if she didn't know if the invite had extended to her or not, but she nodded with a wide grin.

Jowan and Abigail had only talked a few times before, mostly with the polite chit-chat that filled the times between classes, and she and Teresa had obviously been on better terms than he knew of. They both tended to do a good job of staying in the shadows to watch the frivolous child drama play out. People were _dating_ now, and kissing, and Jowan would have bet a couple of lunches that some even managed to do The Deed in locked classrooms. He could have hand-picked the students out. Abigail seemed to blend in with the crowd unless it suited her, but he'd never seen her holding hands with another boy.

As they walked Abigail began to start a discussion of her own. "Do you think the Tranquil go to the Maker once they die?"

"Uh... yeah?" Teresa looked like she was having a hard time understanding where this was going, but Jowan had figured it out on the first try. It was interesting, and he'd never thought of it before. "Everybody goes to the Maker."

"How can somebody go to the Maker if they are cut off from the Fade?" Jowan asked, gathering his mental groundings for the debate ahead. "You can't use magic anymore, and the demons and spirits of the Fade can't find you because you're just _gone._ So how can the Maker find you?"

"Maybe... the Maker is all-knowing?" Abigail suggested. "Maybe the Maker imparted the knowledge of Tranquility on us just to protect certain people from doing themselves in?"

"What do you mean?" Teresa asked.

"The Maker doesn't like demons, but He created them. It's like..." Her mouth twisted up in a grin at this. "It's like marrying somebody you don't like anymore but you can't get rid of them because they're stalking you."

They all looked at each other for one long moment, then burst out laughing. "I never thought of it like that before," Jowan chortled. "Go tell that to Irving, I _dare_ you."

"_No_, thanks," Abby said. "I think I'm in enough trouble as it is."

Jowan felt he had to pitch in to defend her somehow. "No way. Bryce won't do anything that will screw up his chances of looking like a great teacher. Unless Allan or somebody goes up to Irving and tells him everything that went on, and I can't see them doing that."

"I hope not," Abigail mumbled. "That would... really suck."

Jowan knew it would, so he didn't say anything else. Teresa began to hum a little tune as they made their way to the practice areas. There were about twenty or so mages spread out among the spacious room, so the three Apprentices took an area near the corner that was less crowded than most and began to prepare.

"You know, I bet the Tranquil don't go to the Maker," Jowan told her quietly, once Teresa had left to get some firewood to practice their flame spells. "I think Tranquility is a Hell designed by men. I think it's horrible."

She read the fear in his face, the grim set to his eyes, and she nodded. "So let's never be Tranquil," she said. "Ever."

He agreed.


	2. Practice Sessions

**A friendly bout  
**  
Teresa placed the logs in the center between them and grinned a smile so fierce that Jowan had to shake his head in dismay. "Me first!" she squealed.

Abigail motioned for her to go before her, stepping away to an acceptable distance from the incoming blaze. Jowan stood close enough beside her that he could smell her wet-dog scent, but instead of it being overpowering he found it simply amusing. How could a prisoner in the Circle such as she smell so much like a dog? He wondered if she even liked dogs, and filed that question away for further study.

Teresa knelt next to the wood and held her hands out in front of her. Concentration made a divot between her eyebrows, and Jowan felt a slight disturbance in the Fade as she drew on power enough to spark the flame.

Interactions between both worlds were always fraught with peril, and that was why the only spellcasting allowed within the Circle had to be undertaken either in the open practice areas monitored closely by the Templars under Knight-Commander Greagoir's control or in the presence of an Enchanter who knew what they were doing. That didn't stop a few of the rowdier Apprentices to attempt a little late-night studying in preparation for an upcoming test. It sure hadn't stopped Jowan nor his classmates.

He didn't like fire abilities at all, though. Fire was too temperamental and it was so easy to lose control. Magic fed on the mage's connection to the Fade, their emotions, and the power and intent behind them. The most powerful mage in the world could kill himself and everybody around him with a fire spell if he was terrified. They trained for muscle-memory, and muscle-memory, and muscle-memory, until finally their emotions were locked under a tight vise as they concentrated.

Sometimes, Jowan thought, you could see the inside of a mage's mind just by the spells they cast. He himself was interested in the Spirit and Entropy areas of the trade, though he was convinced there was more out there than a handful of spells per class. Each spell took the longest time to master, and even then you had to pay close attention.

And then there were the spells you could create yourself. Great flaming snakes and chimaeras, a human shield made of the very earth, and a whip of energy so great that it drained the life of all those nearby and restored some to the caster. These were the great spells he could never accomplish, spells he wanted to accomplish.

But why? Why would he want to learn such magnificent spellweaving as that so he could fight? The answer came too readily, though he would never admit it. He would escape the Chantry one day, go till some land in the bannorns–or maybe Orlais. Always he felt like the Maker-given gift had been poorly chosen.

Truth be told, he would have been perfectly happy to be normal.

Normal meant going to a school nearby his family, perhaps having a girlfriend, perhaps having a ton of girlfriends. And then possibly being on a sports team, perhaps becoming a Templar. He'd never step near the Circle, though. He wanted to see the world. Was that too much to ask? The Circle Tower was getting smaller and smaller each passing day at minuscule amounts, but tinier it was getting. Soon he wasn't even sure if he could get out.

Even as they watched a disturbance in the air around Teresa's finger took shape into a tiny ball of light. Teresa, biting her lip in concentration, directed the small light to the wooden fuel with a tiny motion of her fingers. The first log began to smoulder. Teresa's shoulders sagged and she looked up, smiling. "I love fire!"

"We know, Teresa, we know," Jowan told her. "Abigail... you next?"

"I love fire, too," she muttered, kneeling down.

A disturbance of the Fade, larger than Teresa's, made the hairs on Jowan's arms stand on end. Fire wreathed itself in her hands, flaming cool and steady, and she made a sharp movement. The fire flew from her hands like a wave of water, infinitely there and in control. The flames turned blue for so brief a second that he could have imagined it, and then it was over.

The fire crackled in front of them, dancing happily on the flames. Abigail examined her hands with a benign expression on her face, but he could see something working behind there that wasn't just innocent surprise. She looked fiercely triumphant, but not in a way to scare him. She looked like a person whose deepest desire was just on the pathways to being met. "I like Healing, too," she answered, "but I've always liked fire. The Templars took me away because I was playing a game with my little brother in the flames."

"What kind of game?" Teresa asked carefully, and Jowan couldn't help but empathize with the sudden trepidation in her voice.

"I was making it swerve and dance for him," she said, lost in thought. She shook herself out of it and looked up apologetically. "Sorry for taking your turn, Jowan."

Silence. "How did you do that?" he whispered tightly, looking around. Some of the other mages were watching them out of the corner of their eyes. Jowan's face was beginning to flame up in embarrassment.

"I practice a lot," she said. "That's all you have to do. But I like fire better... it's just more fun for me."

_Are you kidding me? Are you crazy? "_Do that again!" Teresa said, pointing at the fire. "Come on, show us!"

"What? No!" Abigail cried. "I'm tired, give me a moment."

As it turned out she wouldn't show them any more. Jowan was crushed, but he understood to an extent. So she was good at fire magic, big deal. If he was good at something he wouldn't want to be gawked at like some prized pig, so he let it go with a secret hope that she'd be able to help him on the exams when they came up.

It turned out Abigail had a lot of issues with everything but Fire Magic and Spirit Healing, so Jowan didn't feel quite as bad. He ran at her full tilt and felt himself slow only slightly before ramming her over. She laughed, apparently pleased with her failure, but Jowan could feel his face go red. It was all he could do to scoot off of her and mumble an apology. The way her bare skin felt underneath his hand was stirring up feelings he had to suppress.

They were an even pair, the three of them, though Jowan would still say he was probably the less powerful of the group. Teresa was by essence crazy, as in bat-shit, and anything she did was unpredictable even by senior mages. Abigail seemed to meet any challenge head-on, blazing bright with an inner strength and purity that masked the complete inner workings of her mind from anybody but herself. And she was beautiful. It didn't help his attraction for her at all.

He set up to take another run, using the limited space he had, and something seemed to change in Abigail's expression. Her stance became more solid, she looked him in the eye, and her mouth was set in a grim, concentrated line. Once he got to full speed he began to get nervous.

There was no disruption in the Fade or anything. He began to pull up, but her expression said '_Keep coming, it's a ruse, trust me._' He did, and he was sorry for it. He was close enough to see each individual pore on her nose when she dropped to the ground, gripping his wrists with her hands and using his arm and momentum as a fulcrum to swing herself underneath his legs to safety. Jowan flailed for the briefest moment and careened head-on into Teresa, who was beside herself with anger. Behind him he heard the tinkling of her laugh.

"Enough," a calm, droll voice sounded. "This is a place for practice, not for play time." Irving's gently-brushed gray hair caught light in the weak window, accenting the lines upon his face. He looked old and worldly, much older than the other mages, and his was a presence that commanded respect. He smiled at the, gesturing for them to continue. "Don't mind me, now. Continue."

Jowan swallowed a little, his face reddening to new heights. For the first time, he noticed that all of the mages had left the room. They were alone.

"Yes, ser," Jowan said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. First Enchanter or not, the old man gave him the creeps from day one. He was scary in a way nobody else seemed to feel. Couldn't anybody else sense the power beneath the face? Jowan carefully avoided his eyes.

"Uh, Jowan?" Teresa asked, her voice muffled by his arm. He jumped up, surprised and shamefaced. "You idiot," she cursed, then caught sight of Irving. "Oh dog crap. Hi, ser!"

"Teresa," Jowan grumbled. "Come on."

She let out the longest of sighs. "Fine, fine, fine." She pushed him to the ground. "And that's for sitting on me!"

Abigail giggled a little bit, but Jowan couldn't help but notice the careful way she bit her lips. She was nervous. Since when was she nervous, anyway? She sure plowed into Bryce readily enough in the morning class... oh. _She's afraid Bryce complained to Irving. _He would be, too.

It was Jowan and Teresa's turn for the slowing spell, and Abigail sat next to Irving on one of the many chairs they'd collected, far closer than Jowan would have dared. "Ser, do you want to practice with us for a bit?" she was asking.

Jowan's slowing spell faltered for a moment and Teresa began to speed up. He lost his grip completely and held out his arms to stop her. She attempted to bite him. He cursed at her and she stuck her tongue out, retreating for another run. To his relief, Irving just laughed gently and said, "Perhaps another time. I am content with observing for now."

Teresa took another run, as fast as she could with every intent on tackling him. This time Jowan was ready and he planted his feet, reaching into the part of the Fade accessed only within dreams. He leaned foreword as if to push an invisible person. Time seemed to slow to a crawl for Teresa, and a look of great consternation crossed over her features.  
Abigail clapped her hands next to his ear at the ten second mark, breaking his concentration with her proximity. She pat him on the back as Teresa came to a stop. "Good job," she congratulated.

"Thanks." He smiled a little at her, sneaking a glance over at Irving to see his reaction. The older man was watching, no hint of expression on his face, and Jowan quickly looked away. "I think that's all I can do for now. I need a bit of rest."

"You have all done exceptionally well," Irving announced, rising to his feet. For the tiniest of seconds Jowan was reminded of an old statue, older than the living air, rising from the ground to shake the dust from its joints. Then the vision faded, and Irving was just a small, shrunken man once more. "If you'll excuse me, then, I must go complete my errands..."

They watched him go, and Jowan was more than a little relieved to see the back of him. He gathered his supplies and nodded to the opposite door. "Let's go. I'm done here."

Abigail nodded. "Yes, please," she said fervently.

Teresa looked around for the first time in an hour, a strange look on her face. "Hey, where did everybody go?"

"You're just noticing that they left when the Enchanter came in?" Abigail asked, disbelief crossing her face. Then she shook her head. "Oh, well. Listen... thanks a ton for letting me practice with you, but I better go. I promised Enchanter Wynne I'd show her something..."

Jowan nodded. "Alright, sure... but can we spend some more time together?" he asked a bit shyly.

She gave him a long, searching look, then smiled. It lit up her face. "Of course," she assured him. "And thank you for allowing me to spend time with you, both of you. It was fun."

"Yes, it was," Teresa said, still excitable despite a few hard and length hours of practice. "Let's do it again tomorrow!"

"We have swimming tomorrow, Terrorcita," Abigail reminded her, slipping into the use of her nickname as if they were already best friends. "Farewell!"

~~~~

_She was the best I'd ever seen. Very calm, very deliberate, with an almost supernatural poise that could best an Enchanter any day. Her 'thing' with fire was scary at first, but she had her flaws like everybody else. And on that day, no matter how jealous I was, I am relieved now that she was so much better than I._

And I am also relieved she didn't share in my failings.


	3. Unfair

**Two years later, age sixteen **

"Watch over us and give us strength, dear Maker," the Revered Mother chanted, her lips moving almost hypnotically beneath her bowed and wrinkled head. "For we are your faithful servants to your divine power. We thank you for our meals and comforts, and now ask of your forgiveness and love. Amen."

She touched the tip of her finger on the Holy Water in front of her and used it to anoint her forehead, then began to stand. Jowan stood up with her, more coordinated and swift than the older woman, and placed a hand on her elbow to keep her from tottering over. "Thank you for the prayer, Revered Mother," he said respectfully.

She did not answer and instead crossed over to the podium, her silence speaking more volumes than words ever could. No matter what she preached about forgiveness and love, he was an outcast in her eyes. A mage. It stung as if she had slapped him, and Jowan turned on his heel and began to walk away before he intruded on her enough that she'd complain to Greagoir. It was her Maker-given responsibility to channel the divine into everybody, as she had said when he approached her about a prayer, but it was uncommon for one such as he to come.

_Uncommon_. She was just being close-minded.

He took a left down the hall, groping for some source of the Maker's spiritual guidance and comfort, but found none. He just prayed desperately harder and retraced his footsteps back to the Apprentices' dormitories close by the exit. Teresa was there at one of the candle-lit desks hurriedly finishing a paper and Abigail was not to be seen. His friend looked up when he stood over her shoulder, chewing on a strand of lank brown hair.

"Hey, Jowan, what's another word for stupid?" she asked shortly. "I used all my synonyms in the first paragraph telling the teacher how crappy this sodding assignment is."

"Preposterous, maybe?" he said dryly. "Which assignment is that, anyway?"

"Qunari religion," she said in disgusted voice. "The _only one_ that doesn't have any good books for me to look up. But they're really macho, so I'm just making it up as I go along. I'm thinking they punch each other at formal gatherings and honor gods with hammers instead of ladies with bowls like we do."

"Are you sure the teacher won't _mind_ that?" he asked rather pointedly. "Come now, we've talked about misinterpreting sources before..."

Teresa sighed and ripped the paper in half. "_You're_ stupid."

_I know._ "Yeah, well, I've been made aware," he said stiffly. He walked away towards his bed and pulled out Abigail's sketchbook. Since she was taking so many advanced classes--on top of private instruction by Irving, where she was no doubt at--Jowan and she haven't spent much time together except at dinners and swimming practices. Which wasn't very much, considering that during the latter they were on opposite sides of the Circle bathing in Lake Calenhad. Keeping the spirit of friendship alive, however, Abigail would draw a picture of something (and she was very good, becoming very talented) and would slip her sketchbook underneath his pillow during free time so he could make adjustments.

Today she had drawn a few head studies of those in her classes. Names were put under every picture, helping him out a great deal, and he took out a pencil and eraser to correct some of her minor mistakes.

_This is the only thing I'm good at, it seems. This is stupid, it really is._

The thing about being the lowest in the class on terms of innate magical ability was that you excelled more on the written parts of the exams, but Jowan really hadn't seen a difference between his magical ability and brain comprehension. It all _was_ really stupid, like Teresa said, and sometimes he just wanted to scream that _this_ stuff no longer sodding mattered.

But it was his life's dream to become a mage and escape the Circle and all of it's rules and regulations. How could one do that when, wherever he went, people spit on him as he passed by? He decided early on that it didn't matter. He'd do the best he could, pass his Harrowing (he managed to give himself chills just even thinking about it) and travel the world with Teresa and Abigail at his side.

And the rumors about his relationship with Abigail wasn't true, no matter what they said. He _wished_ they were, but every time he even became close to spelling out his feelings he would feel like a fool and hastily change the subject. He _knew_ she knew, and whenever the subject of boys and dating would come up her eyes would defocus slightly and she'd say, point-blank, "If I cared for somebody a lot here, if I wanted to pursue a relationship... I'd wait until after our Harrowings, so we can _leave._"

He agreed with her, as he most normally did, because she was _right._ And also he hadn't figured out if he loved her or not, which was food for thought. He certainly liked her a _lot_ and had a few dreams... but love? He didn't know, never having experienced it before. He assumed it was different from the almost-friend love he held for Teresa. It was supposed to make your heart fly in all directions and give a bounce in your step. Could she do that? Possibly, yes.

But for now he couldn't screw _that_ up. He'd wait, he'd pass his Harrowing, and in the meantime between then and now he'd just keep drawing and practicing with her. That was the best he could do, even though he wished he could do more.

When they met for dinner Jowan showed her his additions to her drawings and she just kept smiling like she always did, her blonde hair forming a curtain around light blue eyes that seemed to sparkle when she found anything humorous. They were sparkling now, not at him but at Teresa, who was busy blowing her nose on the Circle's napkin. She opened it to show them the rice that had evacuated out of that particular opening.

"Disgusting," Jowan deadpanned.

"Is not," Abigail defended. "Okay, yes, maybe a bit... I remember I sneezed as I was swallowing my bread once... the entire day after that I kept blowing out these small chunks of it. I thought it would _never_ end!"

Jowan laughed. "I think you've said that before."

"She did," Teresa declared, snorting out a bit more of her rice in a very dignified manner. She began to resume eating at a smart pace, devouring her bread with one large bite.

Fortunately they knew their friend well and didn't comment on her eating habits for fear she would chew them out--literately. Abigail took out a sketchbook from her bag (she had four the last he counted, one of them being beneath his pillow) and she began to resume drawing what looked like a dragon's skull. "It's for Bryce's class," she explained, and he got it right away.

After his supreme failure at rudimentary Magical Theory, Bryce had moved on to teaching about the various creatures--magical and non-magical--roaming the lands of Ferelden. While Abigail was hardly his favorite student and he her favorite teacher, they both were reasonably civil with each other Jowan was glad to admit. And when Abigail questioned him too intimately on the details of his lesson he would say, point-blank, "You don't need to know that, Miss Amell, because it's not on your test. Perhaps ask an Enchanter when you have the chance."

Oh, those two weren't very happy with each other at all. Sometimes Abigail would complain via note about the pace of the class, but that was the height of their problems. And besides, the answers Abigail didn't get she received from a book or Enchanter Irving. At least it was a good way to keep drama about blood magic out of the class.

Irving's preoccupation with her was... different. Jowan wasn't used to another student getting so much personal attention, but Irving seemed to genuinely enjoy teaching her. He would allow her to question him so closely that it annoyed Jowan, and sometimes he would feel as if Irving was only indulging her so to prevent an incident with the other Enchanters and teachers at the Circle. When Jowan had voiced his concerns, Abigail had only shrugged and told him she wasn't getting that feeling.

But she wasn't only learning trivial matters, and that's what irked him. Abigail had improved her range of Fire Spells so significantly that that they were an envy of every Apprentice in the year. Jowan never saw her perform them, of course, but he could _tell_. When they were tested on it Abigail finished the quickest, and when she tutored him she would allow flames to lick her fingers as she concentrated. Her prowess did not extend to the Entropy school, in which she suffered dramatically. It gave him some hope of being on equal educational ground, if only for a while.

Teresa openly voiced her disdain of the First Enchanter, calling him an ass when he wasn't within earshot. Her problems with him stemmed from the fact that he was _old_, for one, and possibly (and he would never, ever tell her this) because she was envious of her friend's own ability. Teresa was a little mystery, but at least she could entertain herself. A shout of random nothingness spewing from her lips garnered no more raised eyebrows than a polite cough at dinner these days.

Teresa kept talking about leaving, though. On one of the days when she was feeling particularly adventurous she would pick random spots on a map of Ferelden to rendezvous if they were ever separated on the journey from the Circle after their Harrowings. The worst part about it was that she made them _remember_ the list, which was completely crazy since they wouldn't be leaving until they were at least twenty.

It started with the Lake Calenhad Inn, moving on to Redcliffe, along the West Road towards Highever... the list went ever on, with over twenty locations. He didn't bother to complain about it, though. Something had to satisfy her boredom somehow.

"My cousin Loretta turned eight today," Abigail said quietly, all laughter erased from her face. She stirred her drink unconsciously with her finger, looking down at a date circled within her sketchbook. "Maker... I wish I could see her."

"I'm sorry," Jowan said honestly, placing an arm around her shoulders. "But you know we can't leave... not yet. At the rate you're going you'll be able to see her soon."

"I don't even know what she looks like," Abigail murmured. "When my other cousin Alexandria was born I was given a letter from my father... not _by_ him, of course. Greagoir gave it to me. It just said Frank and Caterina had a child, Alexandria, and it said Barbara had Loretta. It didn't say anything more."

"The templars would never allow any contact," he said, struggling to comfort her. "It's a miracle that he got it Greagoir to give it to you, honestly. Please don't be sad about it, you'll see them soon."

She forced a smile and hugged him with her free arm. "Thanks, Jow."

"Maybe we all can go meet them during our journeys," he suggested. "That would be fun. And we can go to Denereim, too! I've _always_ wanted to see their city. Do you think it's really as big as everybody says it is?"

"I'm going for the beer," Teresa said, pouring herself another glass of freshly-brewn wine. Their limit was two glasses, and only during dinner. Jowan was given the task of watching her carefully after she drained the entire jug in a dare weeks ago and threw up all over Enchanter Wynne's notebooks. "But who wants to go there to see _buildings?_ I see enough of this sodding place."

"Teresa's really a dwarf," Abigail told Jowan earnestly, disengaging from his touch. "She's just in disguise."

"You're forgetting the beard, Abs," she said dryly.

"Female dwarves have no beard, Terrorcita," Abigail shot back.

"Finish that paper yet?" Jowan asked her. "Maybe Abigail can help."

Teresa shook her head. "Okay, Abs," she said, stuffing her face with food, "what's a qunari's major religion?"

Abigail frowned for a moment, thinking, and Jowan almost expected to see the customary flames burn on her fingertips. "I honestly don't know," she said after a few seconds. "I'll help you look up the books you need tomorrow. When is it due?" Teresa shrugged, not meeting her eyes, and Abigail groaned. "Tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Tomorrow evening at the latest," Teresa said.

"And how long have you known about this?"

"Oh... two weeks?"

"And how long does it have to _be?_"

"...a few pages."

"Teresa..."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. I just need to have the basic structures, and notes count more than the final result. The basic deities if they have any, religious structure, codes, et cetera. The same layout as the one we did with the dwarves."

Abigail opened her mouth, a bit stunned, and Jowan chuckled nervously. Abigail just mumbled something under her breath and took Teresa's food away from her. "You get this back after we finish her paper," she scolded, placing the various breads in her sachel. She wrapped the meat back in it's salted wrapping and handed it to Jowan to place in his deep pockets. "Come on, at least I can stop you from getting another week of probation."

"Library?" Teresa asked, standing up. Abigail took a long sip of her water--she wouldn't touch wine at all--and nodded.

The library was nearly empty. An Enchanter sat in the corner, fast asleep, and Jowan lit a candle to observe the bindings on the backs of the books. Teresa began to comb through the other side of the vast room and Abigail had drifted over to an index of books at the librarian's desk. They both had a candle to help them read by in the fading light outside.

"Teresa, look for _The Third Exalted March_. Should be over there somewhere..."

"Got it!"

They reconvened at a table and Abigail began to flip through the thick binding. Teresa said down, staring morosely at the lump in Jowan's pocket, and he just shook his finger at her. She rolled her eyes and said quietly, "This is stupid, you know that?" She waved a hand at the book. "Not _you_, but this entire thing, this entire... this entire Circle. We need to leave."

"Unfortunately we can't," Abigail whispered.

"We'd be dead before we even reached the shores of Lake Calenhad," Jowan said quietly.

"No... I wouldn't." Teresa's voice had dropped to a whisper, low and dangerous. "I can escape, but I don't think I can bring you two with me."

The furious turning of pages had stopped, and both Abigail and Jowan looked at their friend with identical shock on their faces. Jowan was sure he'd misheard, but then again Teresa was _always_ saying the crazy stuff, always trying to throw them off their guard. Well, this time he wasn't having any of it. "Don't talk about it," Jowan said gruffly. "Don't."

Teresa turned her eyes on Abigail. Brown met blue, apologetic versus suspicious. "You _know_ I love you guys, Abs, but I can't stay here any longer. I _can't._"

"Why not?" Jowan challenged, and Abigail shushed him with a jerk of her head towards the Enchanter. "Why not?" he asked in a quieter voice. "Is something wrong? You can't leave, not without destroying your phylactery."

"I'll find a way," Teresa said evasively. "I'd rather die out there than living longer in here. We've learned all we needed to, and I've been preparing for a long time. I know Healing charms, wards, elemental attacks--"

"Teresa, you won't _survive._" Abigail's face was rigid with concern. Jowan felt a deep suspicion in his stomach, as if Teresa no longer had to worry about her phylactery. She wasn't a suicidal type of girl. She would have planned it out, step-by-step, until it worked. "Unless..." Comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, of course. I always wondered."

Wondered _what?_ "What am I missing?"

Abigail frowned and shook her head. "You don't know if that will _work_--"

"If I stay here I'm going to go insane, Abby! You know they'll never make me a mage, and I bet they won't make _you_ one, either. You know why? Because you're too sodding _powerful._ If you were possessed now as an Apprentice they'd have a hard time killing _you_. They want idiots like Jowan who can't even hold a flame to save his life. You need to find a way out."

_You need to find a way out. _He found his voice again, and was amazed how much it shook. "T-Teresa, look at what you're saying--"

"Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot say, Jowan," she snapped, and once again Abigail waved her arms for them to quiet down, an unreadable expression on her face. Teresa just bit her lip and looked away, tears in her eyes, and Abigail hugged her. To his surprise, Teresa hugged back. "I don't know when I'm going yet, but I wanted to say goodbye just in case. I'm ready. Don't worry."

"I won't tell a soul," Abigail promised. Her face was set in rough determination, and Jowan was extremely _annoyed._ Couldn't she see the dangers of this plan? And what if Teresa were caught and she spilled? Or what if she _did_ turn into an abomination or an arcane horror and kill everybody within sight? "I just need to know that you'll be safe."

"I will be. My plan is--"

"I don't want to know your plan, because I can guess it well enough." Abigail began to flip through the pages of the book again, and he could see a finger shaking. He had to step in.

"No," he said stubbornly. "She shouldn't leave. She should wait for the Harrowing like the rest of us."

"She's telling the truth, Jow," Abigail said before Teresa could respond. "Nobody in their right mind would make her take the Harrowing. But she's wrong about one thing--_I'll_ take the Harrowing, because Irving would never spend so much time with an Apprentice if he was going to make her Tranquil in the end."

He shuddered at the thought. "Abigail--"

"We should pretend we never had this conversation," Teresa interrupted. "I need to finish my paper."

"Finish it yourself," Jowan muttered, and skulked out of the room.

Abigail caught up with him halfway to Irving's office, a sad look on her face. She gripped his hand--she was so cold, even when she ran--and she forced him to turn around and look at her. "Please," she whispered. Still no tears, not yet. He'd only seen her cry once, and after that she never had. "Please don't do this."

"I have to tell him," he said in a low voice, his mind reeling still at the nature their dinner-time conversation had taken. "If he doesn't know we're _both_ in trouble."

"Jowan, I don't care if I'm in trouble or not," she said earnestly, gripping his hand harder. "It's death either way for her. She should be able to choose it on her own terms."

Jowan dithered on the spot, but he could feel his mental reserved dwindling. Without a thought or word he hugged her tightly, then released his grip. "Okay," he said, his voice unrecognizable even to him. "Okay."

She visibly relaxed. "Jowan..."

"I'm sorry," he said, depressed. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I didn't--I wasn't thinking."

"Thank you," she told him, kissing his cheek. Where her lips touched, fire burned. "Thank you."

If Teresa was going to escape the Circle Tower, then she was going to need a distraction to lure the two Templars guarding the main doors away. Jowan didn't know when she'd get it or how soon she'd leave, but he was sure it would be soon. He allowed Abigail to walk him back to their dormitories and watched as she put the bread in Teresa's chest. Her fingers fished in his pocket, her body pressing close to his, and she placed the meat in there, too.

They were alone, and it seemed they both became aware of the fact at the same time. He took her arm and placed her on his bed, standing over her. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning, and shook her head a little. "I'm sorry... for making you do this."

"No," he muttered. "You're... you're right. Of course you are. I was stupid."

"You weren't stupid," she protested. "This is just a lot to take in at once. I've never... I've never thought she'd leave before us. I always thought we'd go together. It's different this way."

It was different indeed. He lay down on his bunk as she stayed in the girls' section and he wondered, just a little bit, if Teresa would indeed pull it off.

But she was Teresa. Of course she would. It just didn't make it any better.

Her distraction came in the form of two young boys having their first fight only about a week since that fateful day. Teresa had mysteriously disappeared, taking her satchel with her, and he and Abigail joined in on calming the boys down.

A disturbance in the Fade; a sudden pain erupted in his chest and Jowan flew backward. He heard Abigail call his name, but he was beyond hearing. There was a sudden rippling in the Fade, greater than he'd ever felt before, and he felt the warmth of a nearby fire sear across his face. He opened his eyes, blinking in the sudden bright light, and saw that Abigail had conjured a wall of blue-bell flames to sit between the two boys.

The kid that had hit him had his arm twisted across his back at an angle Jowan wouldn't have liked. Allan, his classmate, sat on top of him, his great bushy hair covering his face. "You heard the lady, _stay down._"

He couldn't see Abigail, but the strength of the flames said she was alright. She must have been on the other side, keeping the fire steady.

She didn't _need_ to do that, but what she'd casted--what she was still casting--had had enough magical impact that most of the senior enchanters and mages had come running. Seeing the commotion, the Templars had arrived.

Giving Teresa her moment to leave.

Knight-Commander Greagoir signaled to another Templar, one of the gate-guards, and they both picked the boys up. Abigail released the flame, but Jowan could still feel the warmth on his head. He touched it, but it was slippery. He glanced at his hand and his stomach twisted. Blood.

Abigail was suddenly there, helping him up. "He just lashed out, had no idea what he was doing," she mumbled, checking his head, then his eyes. "That jerk. Are you okay? Talk."

"I'm fine, it just hurts a bit," he said, wiping his hand on his robes. "Can you, uh...?"

"Healing's already in place," Abigail said, smiling a bit. "I bet you can't feel it after I did my fire. That was a nice Slow charm, by the way."

"What?"

"It didn't really work, but you were slowing yourself down as you flew... huh, you must have been acting by instincts, too."

"Great," he mumbled. "Uh... where do we go now? Did Irving want us or something?"

Abigail shook her head. "He just followed Greagoir. Where's Teresa? I bet she's going to be such a bitch when she realizes she missed this."

Even in his confused state he could see the expectation beneath her facade, the fear, and he couldn't help but react to it. He gripped her arm tightly with one hand and helped himself up. He couldn't believe he was actually _shaking._ No, wait, that wasn't him, that was her, shaking so hard it was nearly a convulsion.

"Are you okay?" he whispered. The crowd was beginning to close around them. Abigail's face had gone pale and her arm muscles slack. "Abigail?"

She shook again, then, though an effort of will, calmed her body. "That took more out of me than I realized... I should swim some more tomorrow. Build up more endurance."

"That _would_ tire you out, wouldn't it?" a senior Enchanter said crossly, eying Abigail with his beady black eyes. "You sustained a wall of strong fire without a fuel source for nearly thirty seconds. That's... impressive."

She smiled tightly. "Thank you."

"Now, now, Jarrod, let the girl be." Enchanter Wynne, her whitening hair scraped back into a slick bun at the nape of her neck, placed a hand on Jowan's head. There was no disturbance in the Fade, like he'd been taught, but a slow, gentle cooling sensation that ran deeper than his physical wound. "Come, let's get you both some tea."

"Thank you, Enchanter Wynne," Jowan said, still a bit shell-shocked.

As they left, Allan nudged Abigail with his elbow and gave her such an earnest look that Jowan had to stare. "That was the _best_ magic I've seen anybody do, and that's the truth," he told her.

"I bet she _is_ shakin'," Allan's friend Howard muttered under his breath.

Despite his relief at Teresa's escape, Jowan couldn't help but feel jealous as they moved away. He could remember the strength of the flames, something that had brought every Enchanter and mage within eyesight running, and he could remember an emotion he thought he'd repressed long ago:

Anger.

Anger at not being the best, anger at being the lowliest student within the classes. Anger at himself, anger at the Maker. Anger at _Teresa,_ who had the guts to go out there and leave this forsaken idiotic tower behind. And most of all he was angry that the Maker had chosen her to carry this much power within her tiny shell.

It was _unfair._

Abigail shook a bit more beside him and he wrapped his arm a bit more securely around her waist.


	4. Dangerous

Wynne steered them to her room, a place Jowan had never been before or was planning to go. Abigail had finally stopped shaking as she regained her equilibrium, but she looked like she was having trouble staying awake. The color hadn't returned to her face during their walk, unsurprisingly, and for the first time Jowan noticed a light purplish tint to her upper eyelids. She refused to be helped "like an old infirm" to Wynne's room, but Jowan maintained a protective arm around her shoulders anyway.

He could still smell that wet-dog scent so cleverly masked behind the slight smell of Lake Calenhad's blue freshwater. It seemed like that smell was the one constant thing in his life.

Despite his anger and jealousy, he _knew_ she couldn't help it. She never asked for the powers and he knew she would have happily given them back if the Maker required it. The bitterness still rested on his tongue, but yet his mind was numb. He focused on the one thing he knew the most–Abby–and let it occupy him so he could gather his thoughts.

Abigail's gait was becoming smoother as they walked, her back a bit straighter, and he could feel her shoulders moving up and down in deep, even breaths intended to calm her system. She was telling her body _Hey, it's okay now, stop being such a jerk._ He could tell she was getting annoyed at the slow pace it was taking to recover, and he couldn't imagine why in the world she would. By the Maker, he was scared for her.

_She bit off more than she could chew with this one, but Teresa's free. Whatever she did with her phylactery, it seemed to work._

The whole backbone of their plan to disguise their involvement in any way was simply acting natural throughout the entire process. Jowan still didn't know how he felt about allowing Teresa to slip away like that, unnoticed, with the self-control of a drunken dwarven berserker to roam the lands. Hopefully they wouldn't notice her absence until the middle of the day tomorrow... That's what they were counting on anyway. He hadn't talked it over with Abigail or their absentee friend ever since that night exactly one week ago when Teresa had told them what she'd been planning.

Jowan hated her decision. He absolutely hated it and he still wasn't sure why. He hated how nobody was telling him _anything_ about her plan most of all. He tried to tell himself he just wanted to know where she was going later, even though he had a few ideas, but he knew, deep in his gut, that he really wanted to know how she destroyed her phylactery.

As far as he knew the depository was under strict magical guard and it took at least two people to open its' secrets–a Templar and a powerful Magi like the First Enchanter. Anything beyond that door was sure to have more safeguards, spells, wards, _something_ for intruders.

So how had she _done_ it?

It was crazy, insane even, to think she could last more than a few months while the Templars hunted her down. Even without a magical trail to follow the Templars were relentless in their assaults. They would look for her until she was dead, and that he knew. She was an apostate now.

He despised that term and everything associated with it, but this was _Teresa._ She had a bit of a problem in the head, sure, but she'd never succumb to a demon wiles. And as long as she took the proper protection to make sure any nearby magi didn't sense her...

That wasn't going to be pretty. Unless she'd somehow mastered an eternal shielding charm to wipe her spark away from a mage's consciousness there was no way at all she'd stay hidden longer.

The night she'd told them he'd seen both her and Abigail huddled by her bed, pouring over notes of the likes he didn't want to imagine. He'd already made it clear that he wouldn't give both her nor Abby up, but his price was to be simply ignorant of the entire thing. So he'd feigned a sudden eyesight problem and ignored them, concentrating on his paper.

Looking sideways at Abigail, his heart racing wildly now at the many thoughts tumbling around inside of his skull, he wondered if she'd thought about that part in the plan. Beneath the blank facade Jowan could see a careful tightness around the corners of her eyes. He couldn't see a pulse thudding in her throat, but he was sure if he put his fingers to her wrist that it would mimic that of a hummingbird.

"Jowan, really, I'm fine," she protested. As soon as they'd reached Wynne's quarters he'd attempted to guide her to a chair. "I made it here, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you didn't fall over," he told her, forcing a small smile. "Thanks to me."

"Thanks," she told him, rolling her eyes. She squeezed his hand and he couldn't help but notice the way she used it as a support to lower herself into one of Wynne's many sitting chairs. "I still can't believe I did that. I've _never_ done that before."

"Don't be modest," Wynne said, busying herself at the kettle. He looked over to the red-robed Enchanter and had a sudden vision of a wrinkled behind. He abruptly turned his face away to hide a twitch of a smile on his face. "The First Enchanter has every confidence in you, and that's very high praise."

Jowan took a seat next to her and surreptitiously placed a finger on her wrist. As he expected, her pulse was thudding wildly. She shot him an annoyed look, a little color returning to her cheeks. _Me, too,_ he mouthed. Her brow furrowed a bit worriedly and she nodded sadly, biting her lip.

Wynne turned around at exactly the wrong moment, her eyes catching Abigail's face. "Are you okay, child?"

"I'm really scared, Enchanter Wynne," Abigail said quietly, and it wasn't even a lie. "I could control every aspect of the spell, and it felt _great._ But what if a demon possesses me? What if–?" Her voice died away and she blinked away sudden tears in her eyes.

Jowan sincerely doubted Abigail was afraid of being possessed at all (the tears were fake, he knew it) but he gripped her hand anyway. _Stall, stall, stall._ "You won't," he assured her. "You're too strong for that."

"We all live with that risk," Wynne said, nullifying his statement. "And we walk a fine line between fear for our lives and overconfidence in our powers. It's a line you must learn to walk if you are to join our ranks. Casting spells such as those not only drain your own life energy–" Jowan threw a look at Abigail, surprised. "–but it calls on powerful demons to fuel it when your own energy begins to fade. If you hadn't stopped it when you did you would have fast began to waste away, an empty shell for that demon to slip inside through the connection you've established with the Fade. I'll imagine Irving is going to lecture you on it, but I think the effects now are enough of a lesson."

Jowan was getting increasingly confused and worried. "You mean... you mean she was _dying?_"

"As we all die a little with each of our spells," Wynne said gently, laying a cold hand on his own. He didn't know why, but women always seemed much colder in skin than men. Yet this effect was not lost on him and he had a sudden vision of a dead hand hanging on his own. "With one such as this I don't know how long the recovery time is, but I think that our young girl will recover soon. You are strong, dear."

"Why didn't they ever teach us this when we were learning to cast spells?" Abigail demanded, looking sick with this news.

"You have to understand, the most a child could accomplish with something like that is to light a candle. That's why you swim, you run, you build up your physical endurance. Your entire body is a channel for those energies, and it takes a toll like no other. And when your body gets as weak as mine?" She just smiled a bit sadly. "Well, by then you begin to focus your powers through a piece of enchanted wood–a staff. It takes longer, but it's far safer."

Abigail still had that look on her face. "But... but I thought the power of a spell was determined by the potential of the student."

"So did I," Jowan said in a low voice. "That's what they taught us. Why would all of the Enchanters _lie_ if it could kill us?"

"Jowan, if I asked you to duplicate dear Abigail's feat, could you?" Fuming inside, he shook his head. "But if I asked you to create and isolate a small flame on a piece of timber, you could. Now imagine holding that for an entire day, two days. You'd begin to waste away. But why would you ever do that? Why would a student feel a need to test their limits in that way? Because aside from a bit of training the _real_ lessons don't begin until you've mastered yourself enough to perform the spells!"

"Like the stuff Irving is teaching me?" she asked a bit doubtfully. "So that why he's paying such close attention to me? Because I get... creative?"

"And dangerous," Jowan muttered. "Never seen _blue_ fire before..."

"Well, blue's my favorite color," she muttered back, the tips of her ears turning red.

Wynee gave her a long, searching look and Jowan was afraid that they'd said something wrong. "You could influence the color?" she asked a bit hesitantly.

"No..." Abigail said, biting her lip. "I just pictured the hottest fire ever, and I knew hot fires were blue."

Wynne blinked and turned away as the teapot began to steam. He noticed that she'd used an enchanted fire to heat it up, but that couldn't be right. He hadn't felt the characteristic disturbance... or had he? For the first time he noticed the staff at her feet. "Can you feel other people's magic when they're using a staff?" he asked cautiously.

"Ah, not really," Abigail said, squeezing his fingers a bit in a _sorry about that_ sort of gesture. "Some staffs are enchanted to make a user's aura undetectable by other spellcasters if it's within proximity."

_You stole a staff?!_ He gave her an incredulous look, which she ignored. She just squeezed his fingers again.

"Yes, that's the general idea," Wynne said, pouring their tea. She was oblivious to the silent communication going on behind her back, and Jowan was glad. He felt as if he were about to hyperventilate. "Now, how do you like your tea?"

"Tons of sugar," they said at the same time, still looking in each of the other's eyes. Jowan heard Wynne chuckle a little bit when she said, "You two are very good friends, it seems."

"The best," Abigail assured her. "Jowan's too great to let go."

"And here I was thinking it was my sense of duty..." She looked away and stuck out her tongue just slightly enough so he could see it. "Or my humor. I do _love_ jokes."

_You said not to tell you,_ she mouthed.

Wynne handed them a steaming cup of honeyed tea and Jowan took his gratefully, trying to quell the resentment in his gut. "So what brought you to conjure the fire?" Wynne asked, setting down the cup after a small sip.

Abigail held up a finger as she swallowed, then set it down also. She shot Jowan an embaressed glance, gentling disentangling her fingers from his own. His hand felt strangely cold without it, and he hated the feeling the coursed in his gut. "I thought the kid broke his neck," she said, jerking her head at him. "I figured 'You know what? Enough with this nonsense, I need to see to my friend.' And I kicked him away, cast the fire, and stopped as soon as I figured everything was under control. Rushed to Jow and tried to heal him... Couldn't do it for some odd reason." She grinned crookedly. "Could have sworn I did, but then this... weakness hit. I'm glad he's okay, or I would've been annoyed."

"Annoyed," he echoed. "Did it occur to you at _all_ that I was moving?"

"When I cast the fire you weren't," she shot back. "I felt the slowing spell you used, but that was it. I didn't know if it worked or not."

"Once again, this confounded slowing spell! You must have been feeling the after-effects of that jerk's hit–hey, what did he do, anyway?"

"Your dear friend Allan seemed to think he'd knocked you away with a blast of pure energy," Wynne said, prodding his chest. "The boy will be punished and undergo remedial training. Magic is only used in special circumstances outside a classroom, and he knows that. But I defer that matter to First Enchanter Irving."

She inclined her head towards the door and Jowan felt his heart skip a beat. First Enchanter Irving, shoulders hunched with many years, seemed to radiate a kindness and individuality that suited him just fine. Even so, the sight of this aged man sent a shiver down the back of Jowan's spine and he felt a shadow of foreboding creep into his chest. His dislike of the First Enchanter couldn't be explained, but he was wary, oh so very wary.

He looked stern and worldly as he entered Wynne's room at her invitation, his eyes resting first on Abigail's pale, tired-looking face, then on the blood crusted down the side of his cheek. "We have the matter under control now," he said, his voice becoming suddenly warm and compassionate again. "How are you doing, child?"

Saying _child_ had to be a learned habit, because Jowan could have sworn he'd heard Wynne say it just a few minutes ago. "I'm fine," he mumbled, ducking his head to sip his tea. Oh yes, very natural indeed, Jowan. Ugh.

"Fine, ser," he heard Abigail said politely.

"Would you like some tea, First Enchanter?" Wynne asked, gesturing to the kettle. To his relief, Irving shook his head. Jowan didn't fancy having a tea party with him, powerful as he may be. "The Apprentices, then?"

"Just Abigail, if she can be excused," Irving said. He caught the look on her face and smiled sadly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she refused, once again doing her duties under her own steam. "Ah, you can walk. Surprising."

"Yes, ser. I'm fine, ser."

"As I said... surprising." Irving gestured down the hall, and as they left Jowan heard him saying, "We can rest in my office if you get tired..."

Gradually their footsteps faded and Jowan could hear nothing more. Jowan took another sip of his scolding hot tea, wondering if Abigail was about to get chewed out as Wynne had predicted. To his surprise the older Enchanter was looking at him with those disconcerting bright eyes of hers and said gently, "Your relationship with her is dangerous, Jowan."

Dangerous? "How so?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light. "We're just friends, after all."

"No..." Wynne shook her head, her lips pursed. "There is something there... But I wonder if it is for good or evil. She is by nature a dangerous being to love, her personality personifying that of fire itself." She sounded almost as though she were talking to herself. She abruptly snapped out of it and placed a hand on his wrist. "Ah, look at me going on like that... It is not my place to decide for you, young man, but I would be careful about her. She can only break your heart."

"Right..." He moved his threat assessment. Upwards. "I don't think she's dangerous. She's a really good person."

"I'm sure she is," Wynne assured him. "But she's also much more than she seems, and I do hope you remember that."

"She's a better person than she seems," Jowan defended. "And we're friends. Friends only. I know we act... _different_ around each other, but we just have a unique relationship. The hand-holding? It's been going on since we were fourteen, and nobody's stopped us for it before, or paid attention."

"I know," she said, "and I rest my case with that warning. I do hope you remember it."

"Somebody said they'd make her Tranquil because she's too powerful," Jowan said, sticking his chin out in a way he picked up from Teresa. "Is that true? Do you really make the powerful ones Tranquil, and leave people like me to be mages because we're not as prodigal?"

Wynne's eyes widened slightly. "Who told you such a thing?"

"Is it true?"

Her voice turned to steel. "I suggest you hold your tongue unless you are prepared to speak in a civilized tone, young man! Ah!" She shook her head a bit. "Unless Abigail proves herself to be as dismal as the boy who attacked you she will not be made Tranquil. We don't classify by power here, Jowan, surely you know that by now." She sighed. "Abigail is probably too powerful, yes, but that only means we'll keep a closer eye on her 'ere her Harrowing. She isn't the type of person to be swayed by a demon. She's too smart for that."

Jowan bit his lip a little bit and looked away, remembering all of the fights he'd broken up between Teresa and a group of girls who'd harassed her. He remembered Teresa muttering one day how she'd almost be glad to be a demon just to get back at them... He swallowed. "Okay. Just wondering. We don't know anything about the Harrowing, and people are freaking out. Me... included."

Had he really released a menace on the world? Teresa would have been safer in the Circle. To her credit, Wynne just nodded sadly and said, "It scared me, too. It was very terrifying."

"Can you–?"

"No, I cannot."

Jowan nodded and finished off his tea, ignoring the searing pain in his throat. "Thank you for the drink, Enchanter Wynne. And for the information."

He stood to go, and on his way out she called his name. He looked behind him, ready for a chewing out, but she merely looked old, old and withered. "We don't keep this from you by choice, but don't go tell the other Apprentices about our discussion."

He nodded shortly. "Yes, Enchanter Wynne."

**Dinner, later**

Jowan brought Abigail her food instead of taking it in the dining hall with everybody else. She thanked him and they proceeded to have their own two-person dinner on her top bunk. It ensured privacy to discuss whatever they wanted, and Jowan was wondering if he should bring up a certain subject... He almost felt he had to, an unmistakable urge to confide in her.

Abigail's face with hidden by a thick curtain of blonde hair as she bent over her meal. "Irving was ripping me one for the fire thing," she explained between mouthfuls of bread. She was ravenous. "Asked me if I knew what I was doing, made me explain _every_ detail of the casting promise. He seemed almost scared."

"I still am," he said darkly. "And I still think it was stupid."

"Yeah... yeah, I know."

"Seriously. Please don't do it again." He looked hard into her eyes and took her wrist. "Please?"

She coughed and glanced back to her food. "'course not. I'm not completely idiotic. I love living, after all."

"Considering you're still gaining that life back I should be relieved," he said dryly. They were quiet for a long time until he said, almost off-handidly, "So where do you think Terrorcita is?"

"Oh, probably crashed out in a closet, dreaming about Redcliffe..." Abigail glanced at the top bunk across, Teresa's bed, and her toes pat the fabric on the bed in a pattern of nervousness he recognized well. "That's where she's going, by the way. She'll lead the Templars in a round trip towards Denereim, to the Orlais border, and circle back towards Redcliffe. That plan she made us memorize was actually her escape route, only she never told us. And she always talked about Redcliffe, Redcliffe, Redcliffe. _That's_ where she's going."

Jowan nodded, already accepting this. "Yeah, I worked that out... I'm glad she warned us beforehand. But we need to act the same way we would if we never knew. Frantic. Worried. Probably until we finish our Harrowings, and then we'll meet her in Redcliffe. How does that sound?"

"How could we find her if she had, a, erm, _staff?_"

Abigail giggled. "You liked that part, didn't you? Maybe a little bit?"

"No!" he snapped. "I don't even want to _know_ how you pulled that off, Ab, but do you know how much trouble you would've gotten in if they caught you? Any idea–?"

"Almost as much as helping her escape?" Abigail murmured, smiling.

"Uh, yeah," Jowan said, scratching his head. "If she's killed, we'll, uh, we'll know it, right? They'll tell us?"

"Yes," Abigail answered without a doubt. "The Enchanters will tell us... hopefully." She took a sip of their apple juice and set it carefully on the bed post. "You're my best friend, you know that, right? I wasn't joking when we were in Wynne's office."

He ducked his head, embarrassed. "I know. Thanks for that, by the way. You're my best friend, too." The words of Wynne he long held secret. _I love you. Do you love me?_ It was a question he was too afraid to ask. "And I'd be seriously... _annoyed_ if you died today."

"Ah, thank you," she said wryly. "I do appreciate that."

"The world of best friends..."

"The best."

"And sometimes the worst."

"But we always pull through."

She smiled at him and he couldn't help but smile back, and soon they were giggling to themselves, just enjoying themselves in a short-lived moment that seemed to stretch forever. They talked about inconsequential things for a while, and then he took her plate and his own and retreated back to the dining rooms to help clean up. Abigail stayed back to rest up, and he knew in his heart she'd be nearly back to normal tomorrow. A few people, most notably Allan, asked about her and he just raised his hand politely and said, "It tired her out, so she's sleeping. Irving already interrogated her about it, too, so leave her alone."

Reluctantly they went away and back to their dormitories, but Jowan didn't feel like going back with them. After finishing up he espied a cutting knife on the side of the table and, after a moment of hesitation, pocketed it after a quick look around. Then, without a real idea of what he was doing, he walked to the Chantry's chapel.

It was deserted, like he knew it would be, but he still looked around a bit before making his prayers.

"Dear Maker," he whispered, "give me strength and give me resolve to get through the remaining days within this Tower. Watch over me. I give you my love and devotion and wish for your blessing. Amen."

He bowed his head for a long moment, completing his small nightly prayer, and thought about the knife in his pocket. He began to remember a discussion held only two years ago, when things seemed normal...

_Do you need to have training to be a blood mage?_

_Couldn't, you know, tell us so we don't accidentally _do it?

Bryce never did explain it and Abigail never went into it further, but after that morning, after Teresa's escape and his own downfall at the hands of a younger Apprentice, after Abigail's awesome display of power...

He just needed a boost. That was all. He didn't want to control anybody, not really.

He gripped the handle in his palm, hardly daring to believe what he was doing. He stayed in that position for a long time, weighing his chances, wondering about the technicalities, then cut with a swift motion. He grunted at the harsh sting of the cut, reaching his mind out, searching for the energy within.

It burned there, silent and strong, and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before.

He reached into the Fade, drawing on the strength of the blood magic, and was surprised at how easier it was. He hardly made a disturbance in the Circle Tower's magical aura as he sought for the healing energy and allowed it to flow into his wound.

The cut flowed closed as though in some sort of very strange time lapse and Jowan felt his newfound strength ebb away as the blood began to dry. He sucked on the now-closed cut, trepidation rising in his chest, and couldn't believe what he'd just done.

Abigail was right. She was _right._ You didn't need training to become a blood mage.

He bowed his head, his mind racing, and placed the knife within his pocket to return to the kitchens on his way back.

He was shaking. From fear or joy, he could not tell, but he knew this was a secret he could never tell Abigail, no matter his feelings for her. He looked at her sleeping face as he passed and he felt a tenderness stir beneath his newfound doubt.

_I love you, you know. I'm just too much of an idiot to say so._

"Anybody see Teresa yet?" he asked, walking towards a group of girls. "She said she'd be here later..."


	5. Consequences

**The next morning**

Jowan had a strange dream that night. He was in the Chantry, praying at a bloodied alter and wishing that Teresa would light another fire to keep them both warm, but she kept shaking her head. For some reason she couldn't do it because she was too tired, but she had a staff that would do it for her but she'd lost it. Freezing with cold, Jowan went to find Abigail, who was borrowing it to shrink the wrinkles on Wynne's face. Abigail just laughed at his request, saying she knew other ways to keep him warm, and he was bathed in bluebell flames.

He woke much earlier than the other Apprentices, keeping his eyes closed as he ran over the details of his latest dream. Chalking it up to the recent events, Jowan attempted to relax, digging his head deeper into his pillow. Barely a few minutes later he heard a Templar going through the aisles of beds, checking for empty cots. It had to be at least three hours before the sun was supposed to rise, Jowan thought, and he opened his eyes a crack to see what was going on.

It was one of the older guards he'd seen around sometimes, but never spoke to. Curious about this new development, Jowan glanced around. His heart began to race as the week's past events came back to him. _Oh no. They can't have possibly realized she's gone that quickly!_

But somehow they had, because they _never_ did aisle sweeps unless they had sufficient reason to infer that a kid was out of bed past hours. The old Templar passed by twice more, and Jowan closed his eyes when he walked around and pretended to be asleep. He could tell he was looking close into his face as if determining he was asleep, and he walked off.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

When the Templar made his third round (Jowan counted at least five minutes between them) Jowan opened his eyes sleepily and moved around a bit to catch his attention. He focused his glance on the man for a moment, blinked, and rubbed his eyes. He cast his eyes around, keeping his ruse, and frowned. "Is it time to wake up?" he mumbled sleepily, looking doubtfully at the moon shining behind the high window.

The Templar's beard with brown flecked with gray, and right now it seemed to rise a bit as the older man pursed his lips. "No. Go back to sleep."

The Templar still watched him, though, and didn't walk away. Jowan couldn't close his eyes, because now his heart was beating so rapidly that he could feel the pulse in his head, beating against his skull. "Is something wrong?" he whispered. "You guys are never out unless something's wrong."

"Why would something be wrong?" the Templar asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"You look angry."

"So I've been told."

"What time is it?"

"Five in the morning. You'll be woken in two hours. Sleep."

And still he didn't move. Jowan frowned again, turned around, and heard the footsteps of another approaching Templar. There was a sudden rasp of metal on metal as his watcher straightened and saluted. There was a slight cough from the approaching Templar and the two men moved into the hallway, well out of earshot.

Jowan's mind was racing. There was _no way_ they could have found out about Teresa this quickly... unless they realized she wasn't in her bed. Templars weren't stupid–they might have realized that they'd left a hole in their security by the time of the incident yesterday morning, realized she wasn't in any classes, _realized_ that Abigail had successfully distracted nearly every mage on their level with her spell–

_No._

Jowan had to duck his head underneath his sheets to hide the sudden horror on his face. They'd been _counting_ on their indifference until noon, or at least after morning classes. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be.

And right now, possibly, they were doing their rounds in the female dormitory, watching Abigail as hard as they'd watched him. That hadn't been just to prevent them from leaving–it was to scare them, he knew now. It was to say, _Hey, we know what's going down. We're on to you._

He wondered if Abigail lay awake in her bed as he did, heart pounding, too many thoughts rushing 'round in that large head of hers. She was going to have it worse than he did if they were caught. She'd _stolen a staff, _helped an apostate escape, and, finally, lied about it.

He'd only lied about it. He'd be lucky with a sentence of death. They would make Abigail Tranquil first and prance her about in front of him, though, he just knew it...

He muttered an explicative underneath his breath and began to wait.

The hours until dawn were slow in coming, and Jowan had no problem in waking up as he normally did. Aware that the Templars were probably watching him he stayed still for a while, blinking stupidly at the bright light, and got out of bed sluggishly. Allan, who had the topmost bunk, was already getting dressed.

Jowan pulled his robes over his head without a word and began to poke around in his box for a bit, checking for the things he might need for class. Preoccupied, he took out the wrong books (Herblore was on Mondays, not Wednesdays) and was halfway out the door before he realized it. Muttering under his breath he rushed back, exchanged the books for the right ones, and followed his group to the breakfast hall.

"Teresa wasn't in bed," was Abigail's response when he sat down at their normal table. "Think she did some late-night stuff at the library?"

Jowan strived to keep a casual attitude. "I don't know, but I woke up a few hours ago with a group of Templars staring at me, and I don't think it was for my fashionable dress sense."

Abigail turned her face away, something working underneath the perfectly plastered frown on her face, and began to eat her eggs. Jowan turned to his meal, too, but it held no taste for him. Not even the succulent bacon, still hot from the fire, could tear his mind away from the upcoming events.

Helping Teresa leave was the easiest part. Now they had to roll with it.

And that meant, whether they were alone or not, he could never speak of it again to Abby in case somebody overheard. They always had to be discreet, they must exorcize caution everywhere...

"Well, she better come to class," Abigail muttered. "Want some more bacon?" She offered the steamy morsels and he took it with a false eagerness, stuffing in his mouth and yowling when it burned his tongue. She threw back her head and laughed.

Their first class that morning was Advanced Magical Theory, but after that Abigail went on to her own studies and he went on to his own. Teresa didn't show, and Jowan didn't have to hide the worry on his face when she didn't show for the next one, or the next one. It was all a part of the act, of course.

In the middle of History he raised his hand, cutting off Leorah in the middle of a lecture. "Yes, Jowan?"

"I don't feel so great, ma'am. Can I go to Owain?" Owan was the master of the stockroom, a Tranquil, and he was the prime authority of medicinal herbs and fungi. Leorah gave him a long, searching look for a moment, then allowed a short nod. Jowan stood, gathering up his books since it was near the end of the class, and tried not to walk out too quickly.

His gambit paid off, though. He felt the eyes of every Templar on him, but none questioned his motives, save one. He'd casually checked out most of Teresa's hiding places when Knight-Commander Greagoir caught up with him on the way to the second floor and Owain's stockroom. He appeared around the corner, his face lined by years, and blatant suspicion was written all over his face.

"Jowan!" he barked. "Where are you going?"

"T-to the stockroom, ser," Jowan said, stuttering in sudden nervousness. "Leorah let me."

Cold metal fingers grabbed his upper arm and steered him up the stairs. "You're fine. We're going to Irving's."

"The First Enchanter's?" Jowan yelped. "Why?"

"You already know. We're about to discuss your friend Teresa's whereabouts."

Greagoir said nothing over Jowan's feeble protests that he was just heading to the stockroom and continued to lead him past the senior mage quarters. Jowan felt the many eyes on his and saw none of the amusement he'd been expecting–they were cold, cold and hard.

They knew, too.

Abigail was already sitting at one of the two chairs laid out in front of Irving's desk, her arms crossed over her light blue robes, and Jowan felt some part of him relax. If they were going to do it, then they were going to do it together. It never even occurred to him that they might have been interrogating him about his blood magic use, but seeing her there brought up the feelings he'd had last night. He was glad she was there, he really was.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. "_Jowan?_ What–?"

"Thank you, Knight-Commander Greagoir," First Enchanter Irving said gently, gesturing that he should take a seat. "Can you please close the door? Thank you, that is better."

"I caught him nosing around the first floor," Greagoir said, jerking a thumb at Jowan, who felt a flair of resentment rising in his chest. "Claims he was going to the stockroom."

"My head hurts, I asked permission–" Jowan protested.

"You will be silent," Greagoir growled, "until you have sufficient reason to be otherwise, understood?"

"First Enchanter," Abigail said in a would-be-reasonable tone. "Can you please tell us what is going on?"

Jowan glanced up at Irving, nervousness icing his stomach like a chill breeze, and watched the First Enchanter lock eyes with his favorite student. They were neither angry nor suspicious, but they held a power far deeper than his own. His body barely seemed to contain the fire within. "It has come to my attention," he said gently, "that a fellow Apprentice has... disappeared." He said the last word lightly, as if he was commenting on the ending of a funny story. "Considering you both are her friends I would like to question both of you on the nature of her leaving."

"You mean that's why Teresa's not in class?" Abigail asked, a bit incredulous. Jowan's brow furrowed in consternation. Abigail shook her head. "She-she can't have left. Have you checked the kitchens? Sometimes–"

"She's not there," Jowan mumbled. Abigail threw a look in his direction and he just moved his head back and forth. "I made a sweep, since she wasn't in any classes... you mentioned she wasn't in bed, and I saw the Templars making rounds in our dormitory..."

"She would never escape without telling us first," Abigail said in a hard voice. "She's not like that."

"Has she ever said or done anything that seems out of the ordinary?" Irving queried in a tone Jowan automatically distrusted. "Anything at all?"

"She'd always talk about it, and we just kind of indulged her," Jowan said, looking downwards as if he were deep in thought. "I never thought she actually _meant_ that stuff. She can't have left, she's just hiding."

"Maybe she's sick," Abigail whispered. "Please, ser, did you check the stockrooms?"

"We have combed the entire Tower looking for your friend, Abigail," Irving said kindly. Abigail's face crumpled a little bit and she looked down. Jowan was again impressed with her acting ability and worked on his own frustrated face. "She is not here."

"Have you used her phylactery?" he asked, not daring to hope. "If you can't find her, you probably should–"

"Oh, oh, we shall," Greagoir said, waving a hand in front of his face. "But that's not what interests me. I want to know why you're _lying_ about this."

"Lying? We're not–"

"And by _lying_," Greagoir continued harshly, "I have the right to bring you through the Rite of Tranquility. Now, think carefully before you answer."

"Ser," Abigail whispered, finally looking up. "We don't know. I swear we don't. How could she leave without us?"

"Are you saying you would have gone with her?"

"I would have helped her pack her sodding bags!" Abigail yelled, shocking Jowan. A fire seemed to burn between her cerulean blue eyes as she stood to face Greagoir nose-to-nose. "She was miserable here, don't you see? If there was a chance I could get her out I would have taken it! But there's no way to break her phylactery and there is no way out of the Tower. Sure, we talked about it, but she was always joking."

Greagoir looked thunderous. "And you would have let her escape when you know about her mentality?"

"I trust her. That's more than I can say of you," Abigail sneered. Jowan stood, placing himself between them, and gave Abigail a gentle prod. "No, I will not back off," she hissed. "He deserves to know that the mages hate the Templars twice as much as they hate us."

"You're not helping anything," he said, somewhat alarmed now. This was _real_ anger, not a fake. "Come on, calm down. Breath."

"How could she leave without us?" Abigail whispered in his ear. "How?"

"Abigail, calm yourself down," Irving said sternly. He had a staff in his hands, looking as though he were ready to stand up and use it. Jowan placed Abigail in a chair, her face so pale with anger it was nearly white, and moved his own chair closer to hers. "The Templars are here to protect us from ourselves," Irving continued, "but we are equals. We help each other. As you rise through the ranks, if you do at all after that stunt, you will realize that."

"First Enchanter Irving, how could Teresa leave the Tower?" Jowan asked a bit shakily. "Everything is so tightly locked down!"

"I believe that is Abigail's work," he said quietly, nodding at his young protégé. "After all... she did cause such a pleasant distraction yesterday. Such a successful one that she could have died."

"You think I helped her escape?" Abigail asked, her voice under strict control. "I cast that spell because... because I thought they'd broken Jowan's neck. I was so afraid, and scared."

"That's hardly the best circumstances to cast it, now is it?" Irving asked.

"Of course not, and I realize I made a mistake," Abigail said earnestly. "But ser, really, I didn't know of her plans. I looked for her afterwards and thought she was just doing something. I was so tired that I went to bed after Jown brought me dinner, and then I woke up because our Knight-Commander was talking too loud to his friend out in the hallway."

Abigail's hearing was legend within the Apprentices. She could hear a fist open and close, or somebody wiggling their fingers behind their back. "Did you hear what he said?"

"He mentioned that Jowan was asleep," Abigail muttered. "Then they were saying that he was probably innocent, but Greagoir doubted it. I heard my name, then Teresa's, so I looked down to see if she was awake. She wasn't there."

"Do you have any idea where she would go outside of the Tower?"

"Denereim," Jowan said, causing the attention to shift back on to him. He glanced at Abigail. "Denereim," he repeated. "I know, it's kind of... a different escape strategy than normal, but she said she'd go to the cities. She always loved the idea of hiding within the crowds. There aren't a lot of people at the Tower."

"And that is all you know?" Irving pressed.

"No, ser," Jowan said. "She'd never leave unless she thought it out. She might be crazy, but she's smart. She'll have contingencies. Don't underestimate her."

"You sound like you want us to find your friend," Greagoir mused.

"I..." Jowan glanced at Abigail, who refused to look at him and seemed to be staring out the window about Irving's head. "I don't know."

"Abigail?" The First Enchanter asked. "What about you?"

"Don't bother, First Enchanter," Greagoir said with a dismal sneer to his voice. "She's made her allegiance clear."

"I was merely offering my opinion, ser," she said stiffly. "Is that so wrong? Wait, don't answer that. Everything Jowan said is all I know, and I would've told you that. It's my opinion that if she can't escape a few Templars then she deserves to be trapped in here."

"Do _you_ ever think of escaping, Abigail?" Irving asked pointedly.

"Me?" She laughed. "Of course not, that's more trouble than it's worth. I know I'm going to pass my Harrowing, whatever it is, and then I shall wait for Jowan and then we will both be on our way to live with the normal people. Go to Orzammar, Denereim, Loathering... I want to find my family, and he wants to go on a huge journey. It's hitting two birds with one stone. Ser."

"I see," Irving said gently. "Abigail, why don't you go back to your room? It's obvious that you can't concentrate in class today. I'll send Jowan along shortly."

"Of course," she said, standing. "I've got nothing more to say."

Greagoir ushered her out and set a Templar on her tail, leaving Irving and Jowan alone in the office. Jowan fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, his heart beating like drums against his chest. "You believe us, don't you?" he asked.

Irving only smiled slightly. "No, not in the entirety. I feel as thought you're holding out, and I'm giving you one last chance to tell me what it is."

Jowan just closed his eyes, shaking his head. "That's all we both know, ser, I swear it."

"Then I assume," Irving said, ducking behind his desk, "that you don't know how she left."

"Probably through the front door," Jowan guessed, "during the fight."

Irving placed two glass phials filled to the brim with dark red liquid and Jowan felt his stomach flip. "This is Teresa's phylactery," he said lightly, shaking the phial to the left. "Does it look any different from this one here?"

He strained, but he couldn't see it. "N-no ser."

"But it is," Irving told him. "And Abigail probably knows this, seeing as she came to the Tower with her. Teresa's carried with her a flask of what was supposedly water, but was filled with another animal's blood. So she drinks her own when the Templar isn't looking and replaces it with the contents of her flask. Very smart she was then, too, at five years old. It's a wonder she never rose up as high as your friend Abigail."

Jowan listened to this revelation with a sick sensation in his stomach, and he had to pass a hand over his face in shock. "She... she _drank her own blood?_"

"Disgusting," Irving agreed. "But necessary if she would escape later on."

Jowan shuddered. "That's horrible!"

"Yes, and I certainly do not want to know what it tasted like," he muttered. "We need your help, Jowan. Teresa is capable of doing great and evil things in the world outside. Do you really want to be responsible for what she does?"

Jowan just shook his head, trying to look as though he were still crushed. "I'm sorry, ser... but I really don't know. Neither does Abigail."

For the first time a flicker of anger crossed over Irving's face, but he mastered himself quickly. "Well, then," he said, "considering Abigail's harsh words to the Knight-Commander, I'm afraid I'll have to halt her progress. If she does, after all, feel that way then it wouldn't be wise to allow her to proceed faster than at a normal pace. She shall be in all of your classes, starting tomorrow. Please pass that along."

Oh, she was going to have a bit of a hissy fit over that. "Ser, she doesn't know anything!" he protested. "Please, you have to believe us."

"Unfortunately I don't, and with good reason," Irving said stiffly. "Less than a week ago a staff was stolen from my private quarters–" Jowan choked "–and I believe that the only one with the means to get in there is... your friend."

"You're saying she stole a staff?" Jowan asked incredulously, his voice cracking with the strain. "No, she would never do that, she loves you!"

Irving just closed his eyes. "You are dismissed, Jowan."

"Ser–"

"_Dismissed."_

Jowan stood, shaking, and ran a hand through his messy brown hair. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He turned on his heel and left, new and confusing thoughts wresting for control of his brain.

* * *

Abigail's reaction to Irving's proclamation was just a growl building up in her throat, but she regained control quickly enough. "Fine," she snapped. "Old, smarmy bastard. We don't know _anything._"

They were alone in the girls' dormitory, but Jowan didn't take it for granted. He bet there was something listening right now, trying to get some dirt on them. "Did you know what she did to her phylactery?" he hissed.

"I figured it out during the interrogation," she grumped. "Obviously I wasn't on my game for the past few years. I can't believe I yelled at Greagoir, though... how could she leave us behind?"

"Would you want to go with her?" he asked.

"No... no, Templars are too much trouble than they're worth." She sighed. "Would you?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm... I'm not the best here, you know."

Her eyes suddenly lit up, and with a sudden "Oh!" of exclamation she darted into her chest and fished out a small and unadorned golden ring. "I enchanted this myself," she told him, slipping it on to his index finger. "Because I will help you get through the Harrowing, no matter what."

She smiled at him and he blushed. "You didn't have to, seriously..."

"Hey, I know you can get through it yourself," she said, raising her hands, "_but_ I want to hurry it up. We need to go find Teresa and give her a good slap." He chuckled and looked at the ring. It was plain an unassuming, but he could feel the power that had been unlocked within it as soon as it touched his skin. "It'll help you concentrate," she said nonchalantly, as if she went around enchanting magic rings every day. "Your spells will be easier."

He thought about the blood magic he'd performed the night before and was suddenly very glad that the sun had gone behind a cloud so she couldn't see his blush. He hugged her tightly, something he never would've done before, placing his hands around her thin, lithe body.

"You're the only one I have left," he whispered in her ear.

"You are, too." She buried her head in the crook of his neck. "You're the best person here."

He chuckled. "I'd miss you if you were dead. We could never have those 'interesting' conversations."

"Yeah, and you'd have to go annoy Bryce for me, but I've already reserved that right." She sighed. "I guess I'd miss you if you were dead, too."

"Really? Seriously?"

"Unfortunately, you've grown on me."

He laughed.

* * *

The news of Teresa's escape seemed to spread like wildfire, and Jowan found himself an unwilling celebrity. Everybody with half a brain cell of intelligence seemed to think themselves an authority on the issue and for once the Apprentices were getting more attention than normal from curious Mages who wanted to know more about them. Jowan, walking to class one day, heard Howard telling the mage Leorah, "Jowan's always been a bit of a player. Abigail _and_ Teresa? Sheesh, they do his every whim. The smart girl even does him homework for him. Did they have sex? I don't know, probably. I'm surprised that monkey girl left, though. She must have had enough of it."

It was all Jowan could do not to correct the blatant liar and he went into class with a heavy heart. The students, while the worst, weren't the only ones who had decided to treat him with disdain. His teachers, even the Enchanters, would snap so harshly at him or give him meaningful looks during a long lecture that grated on his every nerve. He knew the entire thing was his own fault, but he didn't care. There was no reason that they should treat him like that without proof, though some would argue that Irving had all the proof that he needed.

"Look out, he'll steal your food!" was a common verbal jab after news got out that he may or may not have been involved in the stealing of a staff from Irving's office, which was a capital offense among the mages.

Abigail was in all of his classes, even the remedial ones, and she continued to perform outstandingly in all written and practical parts of her education. The teachers, however, refused to call on her and would fix her with cold glares if she so much as raised her hand into the air. She never seemed to get it, though, and she would raise her hand every time even though she was never called upon. It was her own silent plea. _I'm not guilty, stop being a jerk, and let me participate!_

Swimming, which was undertaken twice in a seven-day week, was watched carefully. Jowan had never felt more embarrassed than when Knight-Commander Greagoir stripped down to his underwear and joined him for a swim, even though he didn't say anything. He could hear the other guys laughing and paid no attention to it as he washed, his face burning. Words like _man-lover_ and _Templar pet_ followed him all the way back to his room, and when he told Abigail she just nodded as if she understood and told him Greagoir had done the same thing to her the other day. Not only had it disgusted him, he couldn't help but wonder if Greagoir was going to do that over and over and over.

Greagoir only popped in occasionally to make a point, but Jowan learned to ignore him as he continued his swimming rounds. He and Abigail never talked about it, but he was sure she was getting frustrated. Her sketches were becoming more violent and bloody, and he was sure never to let anybody see them after discovering a particularly nasty sketch of Greagoir with an ear torn off.

At least she still had the Restricted Sections of the library to go to, though, even though she had to ask for a Templar escort whenever she went to pick out a book. Caterina, a pretty dark-haired girl in his class, took pity on them and went to Irving. Nothing happened though, and Caterina only said remorsefully, "He treated me like a sodding child. Sorry."

There were a small group of students who stood by the two, though. Caterina, Allan, and Raphael started telling people off for making fun of them and Jowan couldn't have felt more relieved when people _listened._ Caterina, in her nice and considerate manner, had even gone to Enchanter Wynne to complain about the way the mages were treating them without viable evidence. Even though the gesture was kind and Wynne seemed to agree Jowan didn't see a decrease in resentment until seven months later when no sign of Teresa turned up.

Abigail told him in secret that Bryce had taken pity on her and let her borrow a few of his better books for "a bit of light reading." Within that collection was a copy of _A History of Grey Warden Magi,_ and Jowan couldn't stop giggling when he saw it. It was obviously the older man's way of apologizing for the past treatment he'd given her.

All the time the Templars seemed to watch their every movement. They found reasons to walk them between classes, to sit near them during mealtimes, to never, _ever_ leave them alone.

Jowan walked into the girls' dormitory once to exchange sketchbooks with Abigail when he saw Allan talking to her, smiling and running his hands through his bushy black hair. Even as he watched Abigail blushed and laughed, twisting a knot in his stomach, and he had to go break it up. But it turned out to be okay–Allan was inviting them to join a study group of theirs so they could get through the classes faster, and since Abigail had gone through all of the classes before it would be an asset to have her with them.

The study groups were alright, for a while. Her ring that she'd given him had really helped, to her credit, and though his chances to practice blood magic grew slim the concentration the ring awarded was more than enough to make up for it, at least for a while.

Enchanter Wynne had caught him fingering it once as he participated with the study group in the practice areas. He'd just successfully completed a spell that weakened Raphael enough that he bent down to catch his breath, white and shaking. Jowan glowed in happiness until–

Enchanter Wynne appeared at his elbow. "What is that on your finger, Apprentice?" she asked, pointing at the golden band.

"A ring." Obviously. He decided to elaborate. "Abigail enchanted it to help me concentrate."

"Did she, now?" Wynne muttered, glancing at Abigail. Throughout the last few months she'd grown her hair out longer, past the limit, and it hung near the ridge of her shoulderblades like a wavy blonde curtain. Her light blue eyes looked into Wynne's with a trace of defiance, and the older woman grunted a bit. "That was very good, dear."

Thrown off balance by this sudden compliment, Abigail blinked. "Thank you."

Wynne retreated and Jowan thought they were okay until, less than a day later, Abigail came to class one day with hair so short it only barely seemed to brush her shoulder. She was _mad_, too, more angry than he'd ever seen her, and she explained in a dark undertone that Wynne had decided her _hair_ was too dangerous to wear so long if she was practicing such advanced magic and she'd had it cut.

"What?!" Jowan snapped. "That's not right!"

"I know!" Abigail growled, working on her paper with renewed vigor. "I'm... Ugh, don't even talk to me right now."

Jowan supposed girls put more in store in their hair than guys, so he tried to understand. He'd liked Abigail's hair, though, liked it a lot. Why they'd made her cut it... that was just stupid. She always kept it tethered in a ponytail and it _never_ got in her way. It was a part of the punishment, he knew, and he began to wonder if they would ever make it to the Harrowing.

Her anger only seemed to strengthen her resolve, though, and even though she was the most unpopular girl in the Tower she always had a spot pre-arranged for them to practice at twice a week before bed. Soon he was not only proficient in weakening another person with magic, but he could also slow a missile, enchant something to hold a flame–like a sword!–and they were just getting into a good, comprehensive Herblore study when word came from the top that they could no longer work with each other.

It didn't come in those words, of course, and that was what _really_ ticked him off. Abigail was moved to another class, which interfered with their schedule, and it had to be the stupidest class in the entire world. She wasn't _learning_, no, she was _teaching._ She was overseeing detentions. Luckily she hadn't been as angry about that as she'd been about her hair. She kept a happy smile as she went to her post every Wednesday and Sunday, dealing with the temper tantrums of the idiots (both younger and older) and used her reputation to her advantage. Nobody ever fought in her classes after she broke up one on her first day with such a strong wave of magical energy that the two children collapsed to the ground, suffering with a magical weakness that sucked the strength out of their bones.

Periodically, at least once a month, Irving would call them both to tea in his office to tell him of their exploits. He offered no congratulations on their studies, nor any complaints, and so tea was a very quiet time for them. Jowan had a feeling he was still fishing for answers, though Jowan knew he would never get them. They still hadn't caught Teresa yet and Jowan had an inkling that she was coming up at the border of Orlais. She would lose her pursuers soon and double back towards Redcliffe, the last place any mage would look. With her staff, probably being used as a walking stick, she would be invisible. Abigail had even told him of a special chemical that lightened hair to a cornstalk yellow. Anybody who would remember Teresa's stringy brown hair certainly wouldn't be looking for that.

Perhaps the worst part of the entire thing for Abigail was the letter Knight-Commander Greagoir gave her nearly a year after Teresa's escape. It was from her father, asking her to please tell the Templars what they needed, and that she shouldn't be afraid of what an apostate could do to her. Abigail ripped the letter in half, threw it in the fire, and went right up to Irving to tell him what a foul, underhanded, evil scheme that was when she'd already proven they didn't know anything. He could hear her yelling from all the way down the hall, where he was running an errand, and he waited on her bed for her, drawing a picture of them both smiling and happy. Teresa wasn't in the picture.

She came back, disturbed and still angry-looking, and wouldn't tell her the words that had passed between them. She just looked at his picture and smiled as she began to make her own adjustments.

Jowan, a regular visitor to the Chantry's chapel, never invited Abigail along with him even though he had a feeling she could have used a bit of the Maker's pick-me-up. Part of him thought he never invited her because it would simply be different for him, but he knew why even though he didn't like it. It was the first place where he'd ever practiced blood magic, and sometimes he thought he could still see some stains on the floor where large drops had spattered. It was just a trick of the mind, but he was paranoid about it even more so than the entire charade they were pulling off.

The funny thing about having a secret was that the more you thought of it the harder it got to hold it in. More than once he'd had to stop himself from telling Abigail about some of his 'bathroom breaks' or whatever excuse he had so he could go try it out again. There was a constant scar on his palm that never went away where he cut his hand and repeatedly healed it.

The closest conversation he'd had with her about blood magic was him wondering if a blood mage in a phylactery room would be more powerful. She'd given him a funny look and frowned. She'd become so disciplined with her magic now that her hands never flamed as she thought. "I guess they would be," she said, "but I wouldn't try it. I think the vials are enchanted with a hardening charm."

And that was the extent of it.

Soon, though, even their purgatory had to have a brighter side than the bottom. Bryce and Abigail began to talk and soon found they had a million things in common. Soon he was tutoring her in abstract sentences and suggestions for books to look up and she in turn would impart this knowledge on Jowan, who would struggle to learn it.

Bryce caught up with them at lunchtime one day, sliding into the seat beside him and taking a large bite out of Jowan's piece of bread. His red hair, cut short in the manner of most military personnel, glinted in the weak light. Rain pattered on the windows. "No promises," he said in a low voice, "but I think I can get you both back in my Magical Creatures class. I'm getting the rest of the Enchanters together and I think we can convince Irving you've learned your lessons, even though you've been telling the truth from the start."

Jowan glanced up, interested, and he was aware that Allan and Raphael had began to show more interest, too. "There's a relief," he said idly, "I was beginning to think, you know, they'd gotten so used to this it became a sport."

"No way," Bryce said, shaking his head. "I think I have Leorah convinced you don't know anybody, and everybody else is in the doubtful stages. You guys have stuck to it so long and put up with so much sod that I'm sure that they don't believe Irving any more. Or if Irving believes himself."

Jowan grinned. "That's really great news," he said excitedly. "Maybe everything can be normal again!"

Abigail, who had already aged seventeen in the weeks following Teresa's departure, just rolled her eyes. "Thanks," she told Bryce. "It almost makes me wish I didn't push you about the blood magic thing on your first day. I should've waited until your second class."

"Aye, prolly," he said, shrugging. "It was fun, though. I'll give you that. But _no_ arguments in Magical Beasts, okay? Keep up your artwork, though, it's very nice."

"I helped," Jowan grumbled.

"She credited you, too," Abigail told him, nudging him with her elbow.

"This is great, you guys will be in the classes with us," Allan said, giving Jowan a high-five. "Suh-weet."

It looked like the drama was slowly fading, but Jowan didn't feel as though it was. His blood magic grew stronger monthly, and he knew he'd be caught one day... He glanced up the table at First Enchanter Irving, who was watching them with benign blue eyes, and he felt a familiar chill settle within his gut.

There would always be at least one person doubtful of his story. It was just unfortunate that the doubtful one was also the most powerful man in their story.


	6. The Princess

From the private journals of Abigail Amell

_Once upon a time a princess was born, except she wasn't a real princess born to royalty as people would think. She was the daughter of a mean-spirited lady who worked as a wet-nurse in the slums outside of Denereim's illustrious city gates. She moved around a lot. Sometimes she stayed with her grandmother, who lived weeks away in a town she no longer remembers how to get to, but most times she stayed with a great-aunt named Sophie who was having health problems. Her dad wasn't around, because he was mean and left when her mother was pregnant with her little brother Logan, but she didn't care, really._

_Then one day, when she was four, her mother showed to pick her up from her Nan's home with a boyfriend in tow. He was a Templar a long time ago and looked so big and strong that the princess fell in love with him right away. He was studying Ferelden law and became a lawyer soon after meeting her. The princess and the prince were happy when her mother and Jonathan married, because that meant they could move to a nicer place in Khoury where he was licenced to practice. They somehow acquired four dogs, whom she liked very much, and soon it was that she could go nowhere without smelling as though she'd rubbed furs with them day and night. The princess was in paradise–for two whole years they lived in peace and she would accompany Jonathan to visits to distant family members (Uncle Frank was her favorite) and she in turn would learn all about the use of different words and how to form a communicative argument._

_But the princess, she had a power that was only beginning to manifest. Something that, she thought, was scary and enthralling at the same time. She clearly remembers a time when her brother Logan was crying because of a skinned knee, and she felt so badly for him that she attempted to calm him with her strange magic, for that was what it was. And so it was that whenever Logan felt upset he would go to his sister to watch her move the strange shapes in the fire, but he was warned never, ever to do it himself because the princess, she knew that it would hurt him more._

_Well, Prince Logan was young and powerful at five years old, so one day when _she _was upset he attempted to cheer her up by putting both hands in the fire. His screams could be heard by the neighbors and soon the truth was out. The princess was in big trouble with the Templars and nobody could help her. _

_Oh, how the dogs whined and rubbed themselves against her as she left! Maker-given understanding seemed to pass between them, and suddenly the princess knew she would never see her faithful hounds again. And she cried and cried, but tears didn't work because some strange man in armor gripped her arm and pulled her towards the East Road and to her new home. _

_The princess meets a girl her own age during their long travel, and this girl, see, she carries a flask full of something the princess knows isn't water. But she's not a princess any more, and her name is Abigail, and Abigail doesn't care. She's old enough to know that something horrible was going on to her and she's also old enough to know that crying doesn't change a thing. So she chooses not to notice when the girl's flask suddenly empties and her lips are stained red, because she knows in her heart this girl would escape someday, even if she forgot all about it later._

_The first days at this new prison are full of scary and unfathomable things. She's told by a drunk man in steel that she's a demon-child, but he's berated by a man named Greagoir and he's transferred to a new post where he won't get so much alcohol. She learns about all these demon people, Tranquil, mysterious rights and passages, and she finds she understands faster than most of her class. She knows somehow deep in her heart that her family hadn't shunned her and wanted to talk to her, so she waited and waited for a letter that never came._

_She began to draw and write to take her mind off of these strange things. She learned about dogs, and when she was bored with that she learned about the people around her. She was shy because she wasn't in her kingdom any more, so she just stayed in the background, content to watch, because she was a demon-child and that's what she did._

* * *

**One standard month later**

A book by her foot, laying on it's side cover-down; a slight smell of burnt fabric from the other wing; a bloody taste in her mouth emitting from a cut on her tongue; the unfamiliar feel of the enchanted wooden staff within her hands, so different, so real; the slight whisper of fabric behind her, belying her teacher's next move.

She turned around smoothly, intercepting Irving's own attack with an arcane shield that wavered with her uncertainty. The blue dome made no whisper in the Fade just as Irving's own freezing spell had remained mute in the part of her mind sensitive to it. The drain in her strength was nearly half less than what she'd normally come to expect, and the shield suddenly strengthened with her newfound confidence. First Enchanter Irving, his face set in an implacable mask of stone, lunged foreword with his staff and she felt the shield tearing, ripping, and she struggled to grab it with her mind and force it back into subservience. It waved for the slightest moment before it disappeared and she collapsed to the cold stony floor to avoid the sudden burst of energy that could have knocked her off of her feet had it met its' mark.

Moving with reflexed honed of repetitive training and athletic skill Abigail rolled to the side (a smug part of her noted she was able to keep a hold of the borrowed staff) as a Rune of paralyzing power glowed red-hot on the ground she'd vacated. She just barely broke the spell with a blast of mental strength and retaliated with the same telekinesis he'd attempted earlier. The spell was absorbed effortlessly on the end of his staff and Abigail had the sudden, sickening sensation that he'd just drained the power needed for that spell to replenish his own strength.

She stomped on the ground, gesturing with her fingers and forgetting about the staff completely in her sudden fear, and shaped the Fade energies to–

"Oof!"

Abigail stumbled backwards, holding her cut cheek with one hand, and snapped to her senses just as abruptly. She summoned the arcane shield again, conscious of the blood dripping down her face and on to the floor, and stabbed foreword with the staff to knock Irving off his feet, which he swiftly deflected and retaliated with another telekinetic throw, and the book came out of nowhere to bonk her on the other side of the head. The shield wavered for the slightest of moments and she felt him breach it with his own magic, and she would have dropped to the ground with the sudden entropic exhaustion had she not frozen in place–literally frozen. The ice covered her arms, her legs, her mouth, her nose–

Fire wreathed her hands in sudden flames and her arms broke free to deflect the oncoming spell, whatever it was, but her staff met nothing. She broke free of the suddenly-fragile ice and gasped for air, falling to her knees. The piece of wood fell out of her hands and she grasped for it. Breathing heavy and moaning with exhaustion, she attempted to crawl, blood pounding in her ears, and gripped the staff with one hand.

She could feel the ground swimming beneath her feet as she struggled to stand, but his spell was too great. She collapsed again, her eyes so heavy, and the fire glowing on her hands blazed all the brighter for her frustration. She blinked once, only once, and fell fast asleep.

Something tickled her face and she reached up to scratch her cheek absentmindedly. Her fingers, abnormally warm, puzzled her muddled brain for the slightest of moments and she paused for a moment, breathing deeply to gather her bearings, and she wondered idly why her bed felt so uncomfortable. Then the smell of sweat and the sound of even breathing shocked her out of her slumber and she awoke with a jerk that would've scared even a rabid wolverine.

Jowan's face swam into view above her, and it was the grim set to his jaw that shocked her awake. Messy brown hair was falling over his worried puppy-dog eyes and his hand was suddenly underneath her head, supporting her neck. "You just had a sparring session with First Enchanter Irving," he said, reminding her as was the custom. "You just lost."

Nearly everybody in the Circle had been knocked out once in a while (and in Jowan's case, once a week) and everybody knew about the general disorientation that came with fighting out of the slumber. Jowan's face continued to swim in and out of focus and she had trouble in figuring out if it was just a dream or not, because it certainly looked like a dream... but no, there'd been a fight now that she remembered it.

She began to laugh uncontrollably and touched his chin, because she'd just noticed something much more interesting. "Your beard is getting bigger!" she crowed, giggling to herself despite the fact that the hair on his face was nothing more than a little stubble. She liked him better looking like that, but of course she'd never tell him.

"Really?" Jowan asked dryly. "Wonderful you noticed. Come on, up you get."

"You fought well," a gravelly voice said from above. She would've recognized it anywhere, and she was sure Irving was smiling. "You've certainly progressed since our last match... when was it? A year or so ago."

Jowan's arms, seeming so much stronger than her own weakened ones, lifted her to a sitting position. She realized she was trembling and she couldn't help it, but she knew it would go away soon. She caught the careful look on Jowan's face and realized what this reminded him of, and she gripped his fingers reassuringly. To her sudden hurt he slipped them off and distanced his body from her's. She tried not to notice and busied herself with the stain on her blue robes.

"That's blood," he said, stating the obvious.

"The healing's in place, and you'll be back to normal soon," Irving informed her. "How did you feel about the fight in it's entirety, then?"

She just shook her head, amazed. Her shoulder-length blonde hair annoyed her still, and she missed the feel of her wavy locks against her back. "You were so much better than I was, as normal," she said, "but you went harder on me than before and didn't drag it out. I appreciate that, I think, but why'd you keep hitting me with the damn book?"

He raised both eyebrows and pointed to the piece of enchanted wood she still clutched in her left hand. She hadn't even realized she still had it. "You let me know what you were thinking. A true mage _never_ reveals his thoughts to his opponents. You threw away the use of your staff at a critical moment and opened yourself to attack." He examined the blood still dripping on her face and said in a lower tone, "Perhaps I was a mite enthusiastic..."

"Are you guys done?" Jowan asked, glancing up to look at the First Enchanter.

Abigail got to her feet in a sudden movement, making the world spin, and she leaned on the staff for support. "No! Let me try again. I need to know how you did that with the shield."

Irving descended into the traditional battle stance without a word and a blue sphere of energy wrapped itself around his body without so much as a tickle in the Fade. He looked at her, eyes blazing, and nodded. She understood immediately and switched the staff to a better grip. The old school rentals, they weren't really fun, not as great as the one she'd stolen for Terrorcita last year, but it worked well enough. Besides, part of the ongoing act was acting as though this new piece of wood was the best thing on Thedas, and she was pretty sure First Enchanter Irving was paying attention.

"Feel for the shield and find my weakest spot," Irving instructed her, and she attempted to do as he bid, casting about with her mind. She felt the shield like a small mental 'bump' in her head, and cast about it to find what felt like the most transparent area.

She lashed out with the staff, concentrating hard, and attempted to slip inside. She heard somebody in the other wing scream in surprise and she lost it. "Damn it," she cursed.

"It's not something I'd expect you to pick up." Irving's sphere disappeared into nothingness, and Abigail didn't even detect a trace of weariness on him. It amazed her, and she couldn't wait until she was proficient enough to do what she needed. "You've picked up on the staff easily enough, it seems."

"It's so different, but it feels _right,_" she said, struggling for the words. She straightened suddenly, remembering Jowan, and tried to hand him the staff. "You have to try this. Please. You'll love it."

He shook his head, an embarrassed smile crossing his face. "No, thanks." He glanced over his shoulder, rocking a bit on his heels. "If you don't need me, then, I'm heading back to my room."

Abigail felt her shoulders slump a little bit, but she forced a smile on her face. "Okay," she said brightly. "I'll catch up with you later."

She watched him leave, feeling dejected, and she could feel Irving's eyes on her. She occupied herself with rubbing a thumb along the ridge of the staff, reaching out with her mind to make bluebell flames appear on the end, scorching the stone beneath. "This is so much easier," she said conversationally. "I love this."

"Yes," her teacher said, distracted. "No magical trace, an extra boost... And, of course, the more a mage uses one staff, the more powerful and unique the staff becomes."

"I've heard about manological imprinting on staffs," Abigail said, nodding. "It's like the age-old rule. Something about how one person's staff won't work as well in a stranger's hands. And definitely not in a Templar's._" _She smiled a bit.

Irving took her back to his office after a few more pointers–most notably on power moderation and body language–and Abigail was getting the feeling that this was more of a test for her than a normal practice session. He quizzed her on everything–_everything–_she knew, even the stuff she wasn't supposed to. He threw complex moral equations her way and seemed at least partly satisfied at her answers, and soon they were both on their sixth cup of tea.

"So tell me about your relationship with Jowan," Irving said, stirring in his sugar with his finger. "You both seemed so different in the practice area today."

Abigail ducked her head, using her tea as an excuse not to show her face, which had flushed red. "There's nothing to tell, ser."

Silence.

"Okay, he's been a lot more distant than usual," she said quietly. "He's more aloof. Snappish. I think the Harrowings are scaring him, because Howard disappeared, and I think I know what happened to him, and Owain's stockroom is plus three more Tranquil I recognize. It's scaring all of us. Templars are patrolling the aisles more often, we have so much work... I guess I can see why he's so different right now, but..."

She just took a sip of her tea. "I hope you don't use this against him, ser," she said in a level tone, meeting his eyes. "He can do the Harrowing as well as anybody else."

"Such loyalty in a friend," Irving commented wryly. "I value that, but your relationship with him is dangerous. It's distracting you, Abigail."

"He's my friend, First Enchanter," she told him earnestly. "If what you say is true, then all of my emotional connections are dangerous. And-and I _know_ that too much of something is bad, but what if I have too little? I love my friends."

"So you love Jowan."

Was there such a thing as Double Jeopardy? She was afraid there was. "I do," she responded carefully. "But not in a romantic way. He's my best friend."

"Your best," Irving echoed. He set the tea down and leaned foreword on his elbows. "Forgive me for bringing this up, but your last friend left you in the Circle, alone."

"Yes, she did," Abigail said calmly. "She never told me, which was against the nature I thought she had. She never hinted, nor made any other sign. It just happened, and I was... _so_ angry. But since then I've accepted the fact that human beings, people in general, are fallible and unpredictable. Some are worthy of trust. I still believe Teresa is. She never told me, because she knew I would tell you as much as I would've hated it."

Irving nodded, and for a moment it seemed like something like sympathy emerged from him, but then it was shut down just as quickly. Abigail felt her heart flutter at the lie, but she showed no outward emotion. "Yes," her teacher said, and she was amazed to hear some huskiness in his voice, but when he spoke again he was as calm and collected as before. "Which is why I warn you about your friend Jowan. As you get closer to the Harrowing, the friendships of Apprentices are tested ever more. You've talked with him about Tranquility?"

"Yes, sir, when we were fourteen. We pretty much decided it was no-go. We would both rather take our chances in the Harrowing and die rather than live like that, even if we see the reasoning behind the precautions."

Irving's mouth twitched in something she assumed to be a repressed smile. "You are so much like your father it nearly scares me sometimes," he said, chuckling. She perked up, interested, because the only occasion they'd spoken of him was when she'd been given that letter. "Oh, yes, child, I knew your father. He helped me out of a tight spot in Khoury when I was younger."

"Why were you in trouble, ser?" she asked curiously, leaning foreword now.

He just waved his hand in the air dismissively. "That's so far back I can't remember," he said, though Abigail had the feeling he was just avoiding the issue. "But I do remember a brave young boy talking me out of trouble. Little thing said he was going to be a Templar when he grew up, bless his heart!" He laughed. "And I admit I forgot about him for a while until, years later, he was assigned to the Circle Tower. Oh, we got along fine, your father and I did. Such a sharp tongue like I've never seen before, always careful of keeping the drama inside of the tent. He could have made Knight-Commander, but after a few years here he decided it wasn't the life for him. Moved back to Khoury. Imagine how interested I was when I saw the name of Amell on the list of students. I had hoped you'd be like him, but you'd only had around, oh, two years or so in his company."

"That's interesting, ser." She tried not to show just how interesting it really was. "Did I pass expectations?"

"In flying colors."

"Thank you." _Is this sudden interest in my training and knowledge a foreshadowing of the Harrowing? Probably._ She was no longer afraid of whatever test they could think up–she was _impatient._ She was tired of being terrified about a specter of something that will happen anyway. "Afterwards... can I leave the Tower with Jowan? I heard about the recent blood mage activity in the mountains, and now we all need explicit passes to depart. You know our plans, you know we won't run off and do something stupid, I swear."

"Like finding your friend, perhaps?"

She raised both eyebrows and snorted. "And if I did, ser?"

"Well," he said carefully, "if I knew about it I would have to stop you, you see, or send a group of Templars to follow your phylactery. And considering your own prestigious power, I would have to come myself. But you're obviously not as foolish to just state you're looking for her, and I wouldn't be as foolish as to guess that you are. It's all a matter of perspective, of course."

She gave him a narrowed-eye look and was careful not to cock an eyebrow any further than it was, because she feared it was in danger of disappearing into her hairline. This was interesting. "It's a good thing I don't have a clear purpose in mind yet, then, ser," she said, raising her cup in a toast to their not-conversation.

He hit it with his own, and they drank the rest of their tea. "Don't mages accompany Templars on missions sometimes?" she asked curiously. "For phylactery business, or for other fronts the require more of a push?"

"Yes, sometimes," he said, nodding as he refilled their cups. "Why? Are you thinking of participating after your journey?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I'm not much of a teacher and I realize that until the threat in the mountains is nullified I'll need more and more of a reason to stay out to look for my family. If I accompany a Templar guard force then my motives can't be questioned and I can perform to the best of my ability."

"You hold no love for the Templars," Irving commented, "but I suggest you hold your tongue in regards to them, and for your own protection. Do you understand?"

She felt instantly ashamed and grimaced. "Forgive me, First Enchanter."

"Don't seek for forgiveness," he chastised her. "Obviously, these are deep-held beliefs and I understand your... concerns." A twinkle of his eye sparkled at his words. "But there is a time and place for your attitude."

"I know," she said, hanging her head. An excuse rose to her lips, but she swallowed it. He didn't want excuses, he wanted results. "I'll try harder. Promise."

"Good," he said, his tone suddenly changing. "I don't want to keep you away from your free time. Go enjoy yourself, child. Kindly leave the staff here. And Abigail? Do keep in mind what I said, about your friends."

* * *

**Male dormitories**

Abigail found him laying on his floor-level bunk, fingers laced behind his head and staring at the bed above him. Looking around, she noted the Templars milling around the sides of the room, the Apprentices of all ages either doing work, gathering laundry, or sleeping, and a younger boy that was thumbing through a tome too advanced for his young age. Abigail ignored the distractions and walked over to Jowan, her stomach twisting uncomfortably at the words Irving had imparted before left.

_Your relationship with him is dangerous. He's distracting you, Abigail._

Even Irving in his infinite wisdom had to fail once in a while, and this had to be it. She felt her reasons for arguing had been certifiably just, and she forced herself to accept it. Or she tried, because Irving's words were like a poison inside her, sucking her of the certainty she'd had for so long. She couldn't help but remember how distant her friend had become, how he shied away at physical contact and refused to discuss his feelings. No longer light-hearted, always sad, sneaking off in the night to do late-night studying...

She wanted to help him, she really did, but she had no idea how. She wasn't afraid of the Harrowing, not really, but Jowan was _behind._ He was nowhere near as powerful as an Apprentice three years younger than they and retained nearly none of the knowledge he collected during his studies.

There was no question of it–she couldn't abandon him, no matter what Irving said.

He merely grunted when he saw her approaching and sat up, looking tired and wan. That serious little look was still on his face, and Abigail resisted the urge to sit next to him to offer some comfort. She just sat cross-legged in front of him, insultingly below his eye level, and looked up at him with a steady gaze. "How's it going?"

"Boring. Can't concentrate," Jowan said, blowing out a depressed breath. He stared down at her, chin resting in his palms, and spoke, "How'd the practice session go?"

She decided the best policy then was to lie. "I got most of it wrong and he was disappointed. Not new... I guess. Want to go somewhere private?"

He gave her a quizzical look. Only shortly afterwards, maybe by a year or so, would she recognize the look on his face as the one he was giving her now; mixed with fear, innocence, and wariness. All she took in right now was the slight frown on his face and the way he rubbed his palm against his knee almost absentmindedly, but it was enough to tell this one thing–he was nervous, and she thought it was her. It crushed her. "Why?"

"I thought you might want to talk," she mumbled, staring at his hand without thinking. A slightly-raised and puckered scar marked the palm, reaching from his middle finger to the space just above the cluster of blood vessels on his wrist. "How did you do that?"

"Cut it on a piece of glass," he mumbled.

"You have some blood on your face, too." She touched the side of her nose, indicating the area, and was slightly amused to see him jump and wipe it away. It reminded her of a slightly more pressing concern, and she sighed because she wanted to know what was ailing him and this might be the last chance to find out. "I guess I should go take a bath."

"Oh. Okay."

The ring she had given him wasn't on his finger, she noted.

When she didn't move, he said a bit pointedly, "I'll be right here."

"Of course," she said, that frown still on her face. She turned on her heel and walked to the girls' dorms to grab a spare set of robes and some cleaning powder from the vanities, so she wouldn't have seen Jowan's reaction as she left. He glanced at his palm with an expression of disgust on his face and whispered a few healing words over the scar, which he knew wouldn't take effect, and lay back down on his bed with a bleak look to him.

* * *

**Night, The Fade**

_Phantoms, ghosts, spirits, they wander on the metaphysical ground that seems to shift and change as they stride, seemingly without noticing each other. She was there, she knew, and she knew that she was dreaming also. But there was an awareness that belied the reason behind it, and she knew that she hadn't ventured here out of her own will. Something called her, and she hastened to answer, feeling so slow and bogged down by her heavy robes. _

"Mamae, mamae!" _The voice echoed in the netherworlds, and Abigail was nearly tempted to see who called so broken-heartedly into the netherworlds, but she dared not. _

_The spirit was there beside her, glowing white with energy, but it didn't seem aggressive. The form around the glow couldn't settle: she saw a male face, a female face, a bearskarn, a qunari, a black boy–_

_It settled on a form it obviously preferred, a boy of five with a shock of dark hair and bright blue eyes. When it spoke, it seemed as thought the entire Fade spoke with it–him, she realized–and she knew this was false, for they were within her first home, sitting across from each other at a fire that burned low and green. _"Danger ahead,"_ it whispered. "_Be prepared. You must be ready."

"I will,_" she spoke to the spirit, for this was a spirit and not a demon as she'd been expecting. She could feel the energy pouring off of it and felt a warmth she hadn't expected. She felt safe and loved for the smallest of instances, and then she was out of the spirit's glow. _"Who are you?"

"Love,"_ it answered simply. The fire crackled louder at his words. _"Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Then sleep, and be in the Fade no more."

* * *

**Three in the morning, female Apprentice dormitories**

Abigail woke as if she'd meant to do it all along, slipping cleanly out of sleep and into the waking world with one flutter of her eyelashes. For a moment she didn't know what had woken her and wondered if she'd just had a strange dream, but then she heard the movement of a Templar patrol outside and knew that something was about to happen. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.

She slept on the top bunk, unafraid of heights, and the superiority it offered over her classmates was short-lived with the fact that the ladder creaked as she descended. Dressed in only a light nightgown and a pair of worn, thickly-padded socks offered some protection from the noise, however, and she made it down without waking Sarah beneath her.

She slipped to the large oak doors covering the entrance in and out of the dormitories and gripped the brass handle in her hand, willing it not to make any noise. The lock clicked as it released, too quiet for anybody but her to hear, and she peeked outside, drawn on by a sudden, frightening suspicion.

A dark figure was waiting down the hall, dressed in a simple sleeping robe, and Abigail knew in her heart it was Jowan. Without even thinking she slipped through the small gap between the two doors and he saw her then. She saw him shake his head, just for a moment, and he ran at an awkward-looking hunch that gave him both speed and silence. His lips were at her ear, and she smelled his breath as he whispered, "They just took Allan."

Her stomach froze and she placed a hand over her mouth to stop the hiss of surprise that was threatening to escape her lips. She just nodded as if she understood and looked at her friend, her best friend in the world, and said softly, "We'll go through this together. We can't leave each other behind."

He wasn't looking at her, and she doubted that he even heard her words, and she followed his gaze down the hall. "Let's go to bed," he said a bit shakily. "We'll see what happened in the morning."

He retreated from her and they disappeared into their dormitories not a moment too soon. She heard the familiar metal footsteps nearing the corner in the hallway and she hastily climbed back up to her bunk and retreated underneath the covers. She thought she heard the Templar pause a bit in front of her door, but he continued on and her heart could beat again. She placed a hand to her chest to feel it, which, for some odd reason, always seemed to calm her down.

A simple fact pervaded everything else: They took Allan to the Harrowing Chambers.

_Danger ahead. You must be prepared. You must be ready._

"I will," she whispered into the night.

She didn't hear Allan come back all night, though she lay awake wondering in fear and terror for her friend, and it was with that state of mind that she fell to sleep, finally, an hour before they were called to awake at seven in the morning. It was a Sunday, a day of holy worship, and the Apprentices were told to bring their holy materials to the chapel.

The Revered Mother, stooped with too many years and still carrying a bit of that Orlesian spark within her, led them through the morning prayer and they each made a vow to work on something that they were lacking in. There was no messing with the Revered Mother, oh no, but the Apprentices were more subdued today than they had been in a while. The story, Jowan had told her, leaked in the morning by a guy who saw what he saw, and she could tell they were waiting eagerly for some sign that their resident clown was okay.

And if he was Tranquil... Abigail felt herself shiver as she prayed, her lips moving hypnotically with the words spoken, and she couldn't wait to go to breakfast to discuss this latest development with Jowan.

"We'll see," was all he said in response to her speculations, and she had a feeling he hadn't slept all night, either.

Caterina was in a panic. It was no secret she and Allan liked each other more than the norm, and she'd even confessed to Abigail last week that Allan had proposed to her without a ring to go to Denereim or any city she liked and marry each other. So great was their love for each other that she'd accepted without a thought, but now Abigail could see the play of emotion across her face. Abigail hugged her and kept an arm around her shoulder, whispering that it would be okay, saying that he was a proficient mage, he would be _fine,_ and Caterina continued to cry on her shoulder, soaking the freshly-washed linen with salty tears.

Abigail, frustrated at Jowan for his lack of sympathy, took Caterina to the edge of Lake Calenhad to wash her face in the freshwater. She stared into the dark waters, fear upon her face, and Abigail once again placed her arms around her. "Can you imagine what he'd say right now if he saw us?" Caterina muttered to herself, wiping fresh tears from her eye.

"Probably a nice '_good lord'_ and he'd hug you and say how nasty the test was and how he's glad to be with you," Abigail said, as if by rote.

Caterina nodded against her shoulder. "I know," she said miserably. "I'm just so afraid. H-Howard, he was our friend, and he never came back. A-and those T-Tranquil in the stockroom–"

"Howard was an idiot who had no idea what the word self-discipline means and those three Tranquils were cowards," Abigail said in a hard voice. "Allan isn't like that. He'll pass."

Caterina just shook her head, still wracked with fear, and Abigail found herself thinking of Jowan, wondering if he'd be worried if _she_ was in her Harrowing right now, knowing how frantic she herself would be...

She began to hum a song, rocking herself back and forth with the beat, and continued her silent vigil.

It was near noon when they'd gotten word of Allan. Raphael had come down to say, excitedly, that Allan was asleep in his bunk, alternately moaning Caterina's name, and her friend was up at once and taking a run for the inside of the Tower, asking hurried questions to Raphael over her shoulder.

Abigail, her muscles stiff from sitting so long, stood and began to head back inside at a slow pace, rubbing her face to get rid of an itch. Bryce, recognizable by his red hair, waited for her at the top of the stairs. "He's fine," Bryce said earnestly, offering a hand to help her the rest of the way. "I oversaw it with First Enchanter Irving myself."

Abigail just smiled with relief, thanked him for his kindness, and went to look in on the boys' dormitories before going to find Jowan. Allan slept in peaceful bliss and Caterina stroked his hair with a finger, a watery smile on her face. She had no eyes but for his face, and she knew that Allan would be the best-loved, most looked-after man in the Tower. It nearly made her heart burst, but from what emotion Abigail couldn't tell.

Jowan waited for her on her bunk, drawing idly, and they both looked at each other for a long moment before Jowan jumped to the ground. He handed her the sketchbook, now closed, and nodded. That was it, just a simple nod, and she had no idea what it meant. "I'm an ass," he said, "but I really don't mean it. I'm scared."

Ah, finally, some headway. "I am, too," she said, looking into his eyes. "Jowan..."

"I don't want you to touch my hands any more," he said in a sudden change of tone, and he became more statesmanlike, straightening up his spine in a business-like manner. "I don't want to pretend we're in love any more, because we're not. We need to focus on the Harrowing, and we both can't afford to have conflicting feelings. I love you as a friend. You're my sister. I just needed to make that clear."

Rejection made her cheeks blushed, and she was too embarrassed to see that his face had turned even redder as he said it. "Okay," she said quietly. "I understand."

He nodded, biting his lip, and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about me, alright?" he whispered. He placed the golden ring in her palm, next to the sketchbook. "But thank you."

And he left.

Abigail felt as if her world was spinning, but it was in fact stationary. She sat on Sarah's bunk, too shocked to climb to her own, and stared at her lap. Her hands were shaking, goosebumps were on her arms, and she suddenly realized what Irving had meant.

It was a good thing she never noticed Irving standing a few bunks away, he who heard everything going on in the Tower. It was a good thing she didn't see the heart-wrenched expression on Jowan's face as he walked away, which quickly turned to a blind anger. If she had seen any of these things, she would have lost the modicum of control she had.


	7. Impasse

The next day classes resumed again, and in a way Abigail was glad. Classes meant that she had an innocent reason for staying quiet and working on something rather than socialize, which she really didn't want to do in the present circumstances. And during that downtime, away from Jowan (because Irving had transferred her back into her advanced classes about a month ago, at Bryce's urging) she had a chance to _think._ She wasn't the type to shy away from awful things, and she wasn't about to start. Pain, it was said, let you know that the wound was healing.

She tried to distance herself from the problem at first and look at it from a logical third-party perspective. Jowan was just a boy, after all, who'd hung on her every word for too long. He had to have space to breathe and try things out for himself instead of with her help. Maybe he just wanted to break away from their own friendship because he was afraid where it might take them.

But Jowan, no matter his reasons, wouldn't do anything like that unless he had a _great_ reason to do so. She trusted her friend implicitly, and even though it was hard not to be selfish and think there was something wrong with _her_, she had to deal with the fact that maybe they'd both just outgrown each other. The time for childhood fantasies was past, and the time for adulthood was growing closer with every hour.

Oh, her Harrowing was soon. She knew that. Allan was the first one in her age group to make it through alive, and that fact, alongside the extra tutoring sessions Irving was giving her, said a lot. It was a _warning_, a red flag on the near horizon that betrayed the presence of the peril ahead.

_Be prepared._

She wasted no time in puzzling over the strange Fade-dream, either. It wasn't the first one where she'd spoken to a spirit of being, and it probably wouldn't be the last. _It's the first time I was given a warning, though, _she thought darkly, chewing on the end of her quill as she pretended to listen to Enchanter Thomas explaining the finer points of Ferelden government. _A spirit of Love contacts me, to warn me . . . I wonder if that's happened before. How can I phrase the question to First Enchanter Irving so he doesn't think it happened to me?_ There wasn't, but it kept her mind occupied while she got over her most recent problem.

Jowan had his own problems, and it didn't look like he wanted help with them, and so she just had to accept that. She had to . . .

_You don't love him, Abigail,_ she chided herself. _You just like him a lot. It's inevitable when put together in such a horrible atmosphere. He never loved you, either. You were just a crush, and so was he._

"Miss Amell?"

_Friendship. Dangerous._

"By the Maker, somebody hit the girl out of her daydream," Enchanter Thomas muttered, crossing his arms. She returned to life with a jerk and blinked her eyes stupidly. "Are you back with us now, or shall I call for a cot and hot soup?"

"I'm sorry, ser," she said, abashed. "What was the question?"

Enchanter Thomas raised an angular eyebrow and stroked his toothbrush mustache. He appeared to have found a crumb, because he flicked something off of his fingernails. "We'll let it be for now," he said imperiously, sweeping to the other side of the room to grab a ruler from his desk. "Langley, come up here and make the chart for us. And when you've broken your first stick of chalk, do indeed switch to the white; I'm rather fond of the orange."

Abigail returned to taking notes, her face burning, and realized this was probably the exact kind of distraction Irving was talking about. Little did she know about the conversation Enchanter Wynne had with Jowan one standard year ago, preaching the same thing. There was a sudden _snap_ and a horrible screeching sound–Langley had broken his piece of chalk. "The white, Langley, the white," Enchanter Thomas said neutrally. "And mind you don't press down that hard. Everybody else–join up, you know what to do."

Abigail moved her chair to sit across from Raphael, her normal partner, and she brought out the materials needed from her bag. "How's Allan?" she asked, glad of the conversation that was now flowing freely from her adjoining classmates as they began their graphing charts.

Raphael was a muscular black boy whose parents had immigrated from a distant, sand-covered land. Nearly his entire body was dark black, except for the whites of his eyes, his teeth, and the undersides of his palms. He even smelled a bit different to her nose, but she knew better than to complain. She supposed lighter-skinned folk smelled different to him, too. Right now he was using his ruler to create straight lines on a piece of yellowed parchment paper, careful not to push done too hard or else he would rip through. "He's doing better," he said in his deep, gravelly voice. "Moved upstairs this morning."

"He didn't say anything about the Harrowing, did he?" she asked in an undertone.

Raphael just shook his head, not saying anything, and Abigail returned to her work with a resigned sigh. "Well, we'll get there sooner or later," she said with a forced cheer in her voice. "I'm so glad he made it through. What happened to Howard must have really set him on the edge . . . "

"Mmm hmm. Only thing he said 'bout it was that he was scared–I mean, _dead_ scared. When he woke up, his face was like he didn't know which way was up, or why it was like that. Sat quiet for a few minutes just starin' at his girlfriend like he was trying to make sure she was all right, but when I asked he said he was just _thinkin'_. How strange is that?"

Abigail listened to this with a growing uneasiness in the pit of her stomach and concentrated on her paper with renewed vigor. "He was more than knocked out," she whispered.

"Yeah, and I bet you're thinkin' what I'm thinkin'," Raphael muttered. He quieted down as Enchanter Thomas passed within hearing range, checking over their shoulders at their work and saying, "Come on, now, I've seen this mistake on three groups already. Seven lines on the third column, _not_ eight."

Abigail stared at her paper and groaned quietly, laying her forehead on the table before sitting up again. She erased the entire thing and started from the origin again, counting carefully. "It makes sense," Raphael said after a while.

"Indeed it does." She still wasn't sure if she was even right, but as he said it _did_ make sense. And she wondered why she'd never seen it before. "Only it has to be tougher than the dream walking we do occasionally within tests. He was there for so long."

"You thinkin' he'll tell us the gist of it?"

"No," she said at once. "I know he won't, not even for Caterina unless she _really_ had to know. But we have to study harder than ever now. Our spells should be multiplied in the Fade, shouldn't they be? But that means _their_ powers are greater, too . . . "

"And they'll be whisperin' sweet promises," he hastened to add, one pure white tooth biting down on the side of his lip. "We need to pass. I want to get outta here."

"Yeah, me too." _But for entirely different reasons._

A ruler snapped down between them. "This isn't a social hour," the Enchanter warned, and strolled away.

* * *

At lunch, Abigail sat next to Caterina in Allan's customary seat instead of taking the space next to Jowan, and she avoided his eyes most of the lunch and became very interested in her plate as he spoke to them about his lessons. She and Raphael were in the advanced classes, having moved further ahead than their two friends, and so she had a reason to be only politely interested–after all, they'd both taken them before.

After lunch, though, Abigail was alone on her walk to the library for study time, as was her wont. She was surprised, then, that Caterina joined her with Jowan in tow. Her stomach flipped a bit and she waited patiently for them to catch up, carrying their bags over their shoulders, and Caterina smiled breathlessly at her. "Hey! Don't leave us here!"

"Where's Raphael?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder to look. "Does he have to study, too?"

"I just wanted to walk with you," Caterina explained. "I dragged Ser Implacable with me." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to point at Jowan, who threw a careful glance her way that made her stomach tighten. She smiled a bit to let him know it was okay, and he looked back at Caterina. "That's okay, isn't it?"

"Are you kidding?" Abigail forced a laugh. "Of course it's fine. Is Allan better?"

Caterina nodded. "Yes. Still a bit shocked, but he's working through it." She beamed suddenly. "He moved out of the Apprentice dormitories this morning. He lives in the fancy Mage quarters now! He says Irving offered him a courier job with a group of Templars heading off to the bannorns, but he said no. He wants to be with me until I finish my own Harrowing! Isn't that so sweet?"

"That's really nice of him, but I expected it," Abigail said confidently. "He loves you, no ifs, ands, or buts about it."

Caterina's smile lasted all the way to the library. They sat at a free table and Abigail began to rummage through her bag, looking for her books, and Caterina suddenly cursed. "I left my essay in my room," she sulked, patting her pockets. "Damn, I'm sorry."

"Nonsense, I'll help you out–"

"No, really," Caterina said, holding up a hand to cut her off. "I'll be fine. I should probably go, anyway–Allan's going to meet me a few hours before dinner, and I want to be presentable. Goodbye!"

Caterina dashed off, and Abigail watched her go, dumbfounded. Then reality sunk in, and she realized it the same time he did; they were _alone_ together. She felt her heart begin to race in nervousness at the thought and began to reorganize her papers, her face reddening.

"Look–"

"I–"

They both paused, looking at each other, and broth into identical half-smiles. Jowan gestured for her to go first, and she cleared her throat a little. "I understand what you said yesterday," she told him, "and I don't think it should change the way we act around each other." She placed his ring, the one she made him, on the table in front of him. It was an offering of peace, a treaty, a deal. "But if you don't want me around, I want you to tell me so I don't get a mixed signal."

Jowan's face turned a delicate shade of red. "I-I _still_ want to be your friend, Abby," he said, avoiding her gaze. "But things are going way out of control. I don't know, maybe I was too mean back there. No, I was. I hurt your feelings, and I never wanted to do that. I'm just working through my own things, and I took them out on you. I'm sorry."

"B-but the things people say," she said, berating herself for her shaking voice, "you know, when they're angry–they normally mean it, deep down. You don't like me touching your hand, or-or being too close. I'm just trying to understand the why. Can't I still treat you as I would a good friend, without it feeling romantic in any way?"

Jowan thought that over for a bit, his face set in a perfect little frown, and he shook his head side-to-side. "I don't think so." He took a deep breath. "Look, I want to be your friend. I want to have the great times we've always had, I want things to be _normal_ for a change! But it can't be, Abby. You've seen the people disappearing. You've seen the Tranquil. What if I become a Tranquil? What if _you_ do? I don't want to live through that."

She shook her head, not understanding. "Why are you worried about the _future?"_ she hissed sharply. "We can't control that. _What if'_s are stupid–"

"Are not," he shot back. "I want to be prepared."

"So you're about to tear yourself away from civilized human beings because you're afraid of what _might_ happen?"

He screwed up his eyes. "Okay, that does sound stupid. Strike that one. I'm growing up and out of crushes, and so should you. Why can't you let me go?"

It seemed as though a current of electricity ran through her body at his words and she sat there, thunderstruck. "You–you _jerk_," she whispered. "Do you even know what you're saying? I was just trying to figure out the _why._"

Jowan's face could have won a color comparison test with a tomato. He refused to look at her. "I have my own stuff to worry about," he said darkly.

"Oh, and here we go with all this Maker-forsaken mysteriousness again," she snapped. "Either you tell me now or you stop dropping hints, because this is getting ridiculous."

He locked eyes with her, anger flaring up so suddenly that she couldn't help but twitch her jaw in surprise. They locked glares for one heated moment, and suddenly he stood, knocking the chair backwards. "I don't need this," he muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and he stalked out without a backwards glance.

Abigail watched him leave, her blood boiling with frustration, and she picked up his chair from the ground. She didn't notice that the entire library was watching her, nor that the whispers were starting again. She just sat back in her chair, opened her book, and began to read.

And when she left, Jowan's ring stayed there.

* * *

She ended up skipping dinner, then breakfast the next day, and she was surprised when Caterina found her on their lunch break carrying a bunch of sandwiches in a napkin held close to her chest. It appeared as though she'd heard about the row with Jowan when she said, "Here, I figured you and I could have a private girly lunch. No boys allowed."

They ate their sandwiches in the back of the girls' dormitories where, in the small space where the vanities rested against the walls, they were invisible to all who looked in. Abigail bit into the food greedily, satisfying the grumble in her stomach, and Caterina dug in just as happily.

"Boys get a mite crazier as they get older," she said carefully, keeping an eye on the ham-and-cheese in front of her milky brown eyes. "Allan and I got into a fight about a class, believe it or not, just a few weeks before he proposed. I was so angry at him, because he wasn't seeing any sense at all, but–"

"Caterina, I know you're trying to help and I really, really appreciate it," Abigail whispered, cutting the conversation short, "but I really don't want to talk about Jowan."

"I'm sorry," Caterina apologized just as quietly. "I know he's been acting different lately, but I was worried . . . They said you were so upset."

"Really?" Abigail asked mildly.

"They were wrong, of course. I told them so."

Abigail smiled. It felt wrong on her face. "Thank you."

"Sure. You helped me out yesterday when I was a nervous wreck. The guys wouldn't even take a step towards me. I think everybody deserves a shoulder to lean on, you know, once in a while. You don't always have to do it yourself."

"I don't try to do it all myself,' she protested weakly. "I get so much help from the First Enchanter, Bryce, you guys..."

"But you do it alone," Caterina chided gently. "You never get upset, even though we know you are. You laugh and you're just as happy as us, but you're sad, too. And you never say how nervous you are, even though we know you have to be as scared as we are. The only time I've seen you fly off the handle was when Knight-Commadner Greagoir gave you that letter from your father, about your missing friend . . ."

Abigail pursed her lips. "It's not like that," she said. "I'm not looking to be a martyr. I–"

"Oh, we know you're not," Caterina burst out. "Ah, sod it, this is all coming out wrong. What I'm saying is that I hope you bounce back, because _Jowan_ needs help, too."

"Let me guess," Abigail said dryly, a slinking suspicion setting in. "Raphael and Allan are having a boy's lunch with him, too." Caterina blushed and focused on her sandwich, and Abigail laughed once without humor. "Okay, it's time for me to be happy again. What Jowan does is on his own time, and I owe it to him to still be his friend no matter what."

She nodded, a smile breaking off across her face. "I'm really glad you feel that way."

_Yeah, but _he_ won't. Have fun talking some sense into him, guys. _Abigail tucked into her sandwich with a morbidity that surprised even herself, and tried to shake herself out of it. The Harrowings were on the horizon, she had an inkling of what it might be, and so she had to study ever harder.

They finished their sandwiches and Abigail began to get very thirsty, so they chanced the lunch hall to get some fruit juice from the tables. Throwing a sideways look at their usual seat, Abigail could see Jowan's back. Allan and Raphael ignored her, but under the table she saw Allan's hand wave in their direction. It was accompanied by a thumbs-up. They drank their juice hurriedly and Abigail ignored Caterina's attempts to bring her over to the table. She muttered something under her breath about the stubbornness of blonde brainiacs and followed.

"Why didn't you want to sit with them?" she asked, trotting over to her side. "Wasn't that the point of going?"

"I was thirsty, and those guys were still talking."

Caterina sighed. "Okay. But you guys _will_ talk today."

Abigail growled at her. They retreated back to the dormitory to gather up their belongings and Caterina offered to walk with her to class, but she just shook her head and told her to get going. Sparing no glance at her retreating back Abigail began to slow walk to Enchanter Wynne's class, her eyes downcast. She leaned against the locked door and closed her eyes, suddenly tired, and waited for the Enchanter to come back from her lunch so she could go in and sit down.

Steel footsteps echoed behind her, and Abigail opened her eyes to glance back at the Templar patrol. . . and blinked in amused surprise.

He was taller and more muscular than most of the older, more experienced veterans under Knight-Commander Greagoir's command. His short auburn hair was cut close to his head in the traditional Templar cut and he sported a four o'clock shadow beneath his chin. Dark eyes met her's and she found herself straightening up automatically from her slouch at the door to meet him squarely. Unlike his hard face and outstanding physique, his voice was low and shy as he said, "Abigail Amell? First Enchanter Irving wants you."

She nodded and picked up the bag she'd left on the floor. "Any idea why, ser?"

"Uh, Cullen," the Templar corrected, rubbing his fingers over the back of his neck. "The First Enchanter didn't say, however."

"That's strange," she muttered, her heart beginning to race. Was she about to face her Harrowing? A vision of Jowan's twisted face appeared in her mind, contorted with anger, and she had to work to keep her voice from changing its' tone when she said, "You must be new. Where are you from?"

"Highever," Cullen said promptly, the edges of his lips twitching. "I, ah, only just gotten here, but it looks wonderful so far."

She laughed. "Kinloch Hold _is_ wonderful, but the stuff that happens inside of it? You'll be very bored very quick, my dear Templar."

Cullen nodded politely. "I suppose that's true everywhere. Anyway, I can't come up with you. First Enchanter Irving said it was supposed to be private." He ducked his head, looking at her with rapidly reddening cheeks. "But I'd love to talk to you fully when you're through. I mean, if you want."

She smiled broadly, inwardly wondering what the hell Greagoir told him about her. "Of course," she told him. "I look foreword to it."

She took off for Irving's office at once, passing the lunch crowd coming from the Great Hall two levels above and jogged past the Senior Mage quarters (Allan waved at her, looking awkward in his new yellow robes) and slowed down as she reached his office. The door was closed. She raised a hand, thinking of knocking politely on the wooden frame, and stopped when she heard the voices within.

"...we do need all the help we can muster, First Enchanter." She didn't recognize this voice, obviously male, and she moved a bit closer to the door to listen. "The darkspawn are gathering at a swift rate. Many lives would be saved if you help us."

A cough she recognized as Greagoir's wafted through the crack. "Most of the King's army is in Ostagar," he said reasonably. "A handful of Magi would hardly make a difference."

"Oh, I doubt that, Knight-Commander." _Wynne? What is she doing there? _She could picture her now, sitting with her back stick-straight in one of Irving's comfortable chairs. "Even if it's not a Blight this is obviously a very large gathering of darkspawn, and I feel it's my duty to go with the Grey Warden when he leaves."

Abigail's eyes widened considerably and she nearly fell over in her shock. _What the hell?_

"As do I," another male voice added. "I can set about recruiting some of the senior mages of ours to join us as we leave."

"That would be most welcome," the Grey Warden said. "The ideal arrangement of a fully-functioning army would be a spellcaster within every regiment, and the King himself told me to stress that idea considerably."

"Uldred, know that you can't go around conscripting men into your service just because you choose to follow," Knight-Commander Greagoir warned. "And even then they have to pass _my_ background check before they can go on any further."

"A sensible precaution," Irving stated. "Though I implore you to wait for a little while yet before you leave, Duncan. We may have a matter that will require your help. We'll discuss it in private later."

"Of course, First Enchanter. Then I would like your mages, Wynne and Uldred, to begin to pack as soon as possible and leave for Ostagar at first light tomorrow with a message to camp. The battles will start soon, and if the Archdemon appears all the Grey Wardens _must_ be there."

"I will be ready," Uldred said.

"As will I," Wynne stated. "First Enchanter, if you will excuse me–"

Abigail took off before Wynne even reached the door and ducked into the nearest room just in time. She heard the lock on Irving's door click open, and she began to thumb through one of Enchanter Leorah's books, suddenly very grateful she had a class on the Apprentice level below. She watched Wynne walk down the hallway from her hiding spot and didn't poke out again until she saw a large, able-bodied bald mage follow her along with Greagoir after a few minutes.

And that just left the Grey Warden and First Enchanter Irving. Abigail listened as hard as she could for the sound of footsteps and when she heard none she decided it was high time she made an appearance. Trying to slow her heartbeat, she took a deep breath and walked back to Irving's office, knocking on the wall since the door was open.

Irving was bent over a few schematics on his desk, which he hastily tucked away as he saw who the visitor was. The Grey Warden was nowhere in sight. "Ah, Abigail, thank you for coming so quickly. Sit down, child."

She inhaled experimentally as she sat down in a chair. The smell of tea leaf spices still lingered in the air around her seat. "I saw the new Templar, Cullen," she said. _Don't mention you eavesdropped. That would be bad, you know. _"He seems nice enough."

"Yes, I thought it might be best for you to get to know him. Apparently there was an incident a few months ago and he might not have completed his training if it wasn't for your father. I'm sure he asked for this post specifically just to watch over you and pay him back for his deed."

Abigail blinked, stunned, and felt a small smile cross over her face. "He still thinks about me?" she asked shyly.

"I'm very certain he does," Irving said, smiling at her. "A little background information seemed in order when Greagoir told me. I thought you might like to know, is all."

She nodded, blushing, and looked him in the eyes. "Yes, ser. Thank you very much, ser, for the information."

"You're quite welcome, my girl." Irving took a seat on the chair in front of her and handed her his staff. She took it, feeling confused, and attempted to hand it back when he was settled in comfortably. "No, no," he said, shaking his head. He pointed at a dummy in the corner. "Freeze it."

She looked at him, a bit taken aback, and did what she was told.

"Shock it."

She did. It made no more ripple in the Fade than the last one.

"Blast it down with your mind."

She stood up to do this, aware that she probably shouldn't be sitting down, and jabbed foreword with the staff. The dummy bounced against the wall hard enough to crack the animal bone in the center and it fell to the ground in a disgruntled heap.

There was a rasp of metal and a cry of pain. Irving placed his wrist under her nose, close enough to rub the blood pouring from a deep wound on his wrist against her skin. "Heal me," he gasped.

"Ser!" she cried.

"Heal me!"

She gripped his staff hard and calmed her mind. White, flowing energy wreathed itself around the wound like a vise, forming magical connections between tendons and muscle and simultaneously stanching the bleeding. He took his wrist away and crossed to his desk to wipe the blood off of his skin. He'd gone pale with the pain, and a side view of the wound allowed her to see that he'd cut nearly to the bone.

"Ser–_ser,_ are you _okay?"_ she asked hurriedly, rushing over to examine it. It looked even worse than before. "What the _hell_ did you do that for?"

He seemed quite calm now, but she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her. She placed his staff on the table and took a step back from it, her jaw muscles working soundlessly. "Pick it back up," Irving told her gently. He took the towel from his wrist to show her the blood, but the wound was promptly closing of its' own accord. She'd healed him. When she didn't move for the staff he said, "I'm fine, child. Now pick up the staff."

She took it, hesitating a bit, and gripped it with white knuckles. "Ser, with all due respect–"

"I want you to form a ball of fire, mid-height, without fuel. Hold it for as long as you are able."

She stared at him, her eyes wide, and realized she couldn't say no. She dipped in her stance, her legs feeling as though they were made of lead, and closed her eyes. She felt the energy leaching for her body as she directed the Fade energies outwards, shaping it to her will, telling it to feed on the oxygen around them. The staff made it easier and the drop in her strength was nothing like she'd expected, but she was weakening fast. She held it as long as possible–thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes, they passed by just as quickly.

She dropped the staff and felt her knees hit the floor. She braced herself on her arms, releasing the magic, and she felt the sudden roaring heat she'd conjured disappear into the distance. She stayed in that position for a long time, it felt, until she was able to drag herself to a chair, whimpering with fatigue. "I-I. . ."

"Shush, Abigail," Irving whispered. He was right in front of her, his face swimming in her gaze. "One more thing–light that dummy on fire."

She raised one hand, her gaze blurred by tears of anger, frustration, and exhaustion, and released one more burst of energy from her mind. The dummy began to smoulder, but no flames could yet be seen. "I can't do any more. . ." she murmured, her eyes drooping.

"We're not done yet," Irving chided her, and she felt a sudden hatred for her teacher spring up out of nowhere. "One more thing, and then you can rest."

"Go to hell," she tried to say, but it came out as a strangled mumble that sounded like, "Goo dea." Her head began to droop.

Irving's strong, bloodstained fingers caught her cheek and lifted it up so she was gazing into his eyes. He seemed to read something in her eyes and nodded, conceding she couldn't do any more. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. She was out of it before her eyes had even closed.


	8. Meeting of Minds

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As all of you probably know by experience, we love reviews! Thanks so much to everybody who has put up with my dragging out the pre-Harrowing as long as I can, and I swear it all builds up for the end. :) Now, I have to say that since Mass Effect 2 comes out in 9 days I'll work extra hard until then, but you might see a bit of a lag between chapters as I play the awesomest game in the world! Thank you all for your support of Jowan and Abigail throughout this story and I hope you continue.

-CI

* * *

She remembered waking up once to see two pairs of feet in front of her sideways vision, facing each other. She groaned quietly, closing her eyes in exhaustion, and heard the feet coming towards her. She tried to open her eyes again and found she just didn't have the strength. She fell into darkness once more.

The second time she woke she was more successful. She made out the edges of the walls around her and realized she was in the sick ward. She gripped something soft in her hands and looked around blindly until she found two brown eyes looking at her. "Abby?"

"...how long have I been laying here?" she whispered, trying to blink herself awake. Her head was _pounding._

"A few hours," Jowan replied. Even in her befuddled state Abigail could hear the nervous edge to his voice, and it scared her. "They carried you in a bit after lunch. Irving, he told me where to find you. Are you okay?"

Her answer was a mumble. "I. . . don't think so." She felt suddenly nauseous and dizzy and she felt her muscles slack. She closed her eyes again, which seemed to relieve the headache, and felt herself drifting away into sleep again. Jowan squeezed her fingers hard enough to hurt, but the pain seemed like it was so far away, in another life, and she paid no mind to it. He called for her in her sleep, but she was beyond hearing.

The third time, as it was said, was the charm. She woke, shivering and shaking, and nobody was with her. Jowan seemed to have left hours ago and the light outside the high window was black. She convulsed so hard it hurt and, drawing her knees up to her chest, she struggled to regain some modicum of control over her body. Her hands clenched around a piece of parchment in her palm and she opened it, surprised.

Loath as she was to light a fire ever again, Abigail found a candle-stick on her bedside table. With the smallest ounce of mental energy possible she lit the wick and, not trusting her equilibrium in her current condition, placed the note in the light. It was from First Enchanter Irving.

Abigail,

Forgive me for what happened within my office. That was a necessary prequel to your Harrowing, and not one I felt proud of. You have done well beyond my wildest expectations, my child. I apologize for startling you.

First Enchanter Irving

She leaned back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. If that wasn't her Harrowing, then what was? She knew the answer immediately and hated herself for figuring it out with Raphael in Enchanter Thomas's class. _Oh, yes, my child, that is a taste of what you'll face in the Fade, my child. Oh, yes, yes, yes, you'll probably feel worse. Yes, you'll be great though, I have faith in you. Go forth and do well, my child. Go die for me, my child. Kill yourself for the Templars' peace of mine, my child!_

"Wonderful, she wakes up and the first thing she does is light a sodding fire," somebody muttered, and she heard a doorknob begin to turn. She crumpled Irving's note and placed it beneath her pillow. A light shined from the adjoining room, cast by overlarge torches nailed to the stone walls, and a mage she didn't recognize walked in with a goblet of steaming liquid. "Lighted the candle, did you?" he asked lightly, taking the back of her head in his large hand and lifting it up. "Drink up, you'll feel better."

She caught the faint smell of peppermint and took an experimental taste of the potion. It was warm milk with a spring-leaf floating merrily in the middle. Hardly a potion, but it was one of the best ways to wake somebody up. She drank the rest in six gulps and panted for breath. "W-What time?" she asked.

"Nearly midnight," the mage told her. "You've been asleep for a few hours, and frankly I expected you to be out longer." He began to rearrange her pillows, then crossed over to a wardrobe to pull of some heavier blankets. "The First Enchanter told me what you did, and I'm impressed. Here you go, you're shivering." He placed the blankets over her and continued to talk. "Your friends came here earlier, you know, and I nearly had to blast Jowan with a spell to let you rest! Unbelievable."

"_Jowan_ was here?"

"Oh, yes, I'm surprised you don't remember. You started whispering about how cold your hands were and the boy kept the warm for you. A nice friend, that, despite the row you had yesterday." He laughed at her expression. "Oh, yes, I was there and I saw it. So you woke up as soon as he grabbed your hand and passed out just as soon. I don't blame you, either. Holding such a spell for two minutes? Even with a staff that's tough, and I don't care if he was testing you–"

Abigail allowed him to talk, burrowing deeper into the blankets. She tried to warm her hands underneath her body and thought of Jowan, wondering at the emotions that must have been going through him as he saw her there, laying on the bed. . . He was probably worried, because she knew whatever anger they each held for each other was just superficial and would heal quickly, but she couldn't help but feel a nagging depression in the back of her head. Loathing always the damsel in distress within storybooks, Abigail found it disconcerting to actually _be_ the damsel. It was strange and alien and she just wanted to go back to her room, pretend everything was fine, and go get on with her Harrowing.

_That wasn't a part of my Harrowing. . ._

She scrolled back in her memory, trying to think back to the conversation she'd unwittingly dropped in on. Wynne and Uldred, along with some of Uldred's followers, were heading for Ostagar to battle the darkspawn with King Cailan, who was somehow convinced by the Grey Wardens that a Blight had taken a hold of the Korcari Wilds. And then the man who was there, Duncan.

And it dawned on her, slowly at first, that Duncan _never left Irving's office._ She closed her eyes, trying to remember what her mentor's room looked like, and remembered quite suddenly about the wardrobe he kept in the corner full of old cloaks and magical items. It was where she'd stolen the staff for Teresa, and she bet that a fully-grown man could stand up just fine as long as he made no sound. . .

First Enchanter Irving was clever. _Oh _was he clever. It was positioned perfectly to see the entire show, and then some.

But then came the why? Why was she tested so? The answer came to her just as suddenly as the previous and she had to struggle hard to keep her face impassive. Irving had tested her, shown her strengths, all for the Grey Warden. . .

And the Grey Warden was recruiting.

She was beginning to feel very strongly towards this faceless man and she wasn't sure if it was dislike and adoration.

Her mage healer pinched out the candlelight with a thumb and forefinger and retreated after saying she should get some rest. Knowing she couldn't do anything more that night, Abigail brought her knees to her chest, pulled the covers over her head, and attempted to sleep. Unsurprisingly, it was easy.

* * *

The talkative mage that attended to her in the night had been replaced by a Tranquil woman only a few years older than she. She attended to all of her baser needs with a formal detachment that made a shiver crawl down her back and Abigail knew she couldn't spend any more time at all in there without going crazy.

"The First Enchanter told me to release you during the midday meal," the Tranquil, named Ama, spoke in a flat monotone. "I cannot allow you to go until then."

"I have stuff I need to do," Abigail said, trying to reason with her for the umpteenth time. "I'm sure the First Enchanter didn't mean for you to follow his words to the letter."

"My duty is to the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander of Kinloch Hold. Please sit down and wait for the afternoon classes to be dismissed."

Abigail found she couldn't resist and she took a seat near a fire to warm her cold limbs. Somebody had brought her bag to her in the early morning and left it near her bed, and that was at least a bit of comfort to her aching soul. She couldn't stand being in the room with a Tranquil and she needed something to cancel her out somehow. She dug into the black bag's depths for her sketchbook and a piece of charcoal and began to draw.

A profile shot of Caterina began to emerge, and Abigail, feeling a bit foolish, decided to add Allan in front of her, smiling his normal goofy smile. Then she added their bodies, which took a good hour, and even added an intricate Elvish ring on Caterina's wedding finger. When she was done with that it was nearly eleven o'clock and her stomach was grumbling hungrily.

She slipped the bag over her shoulder and stretched out on the floor, waiting for Ama to get up and leave the front room unattended. It took a good long while, but as soon as her back was turned Abigail slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Feeling a bit sick with the over-exertion, Abigail stayed close to the wall as she made her way to the girls' dorms. She'd just forgot to account for one thing–

"Abigail Amell?"

She turned around, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, and looked up at the new Templar. Cullen. She smiled as she saw him. "Hello again, Cullen," she said brightly. "How are you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I snuck out," she said truthfully. "I don't like being around Tranquil. Real people or not, they creep me out. You won't make me go back there, will you?" She looked up at him hopefully.

"Uh. . ." He frowned, scratching his cheek absent-mindedly, and shook his head. "I guess not. I-I can't stand them either. I'll bring you back to your room, shall I?"

"Oh, you don't have to–"

"I kind of do," he said sheepishly. "The Knight-Commander guessed you'd be, erm, sneaking out soon. Sorry."

"Ah." She felt a bit of color return to her face. "Well, it never hurts to be predictable once in a while." She motioned to him to join her and they continued onwards. "First Enchanter Irving said you knew my dad, you know. He didn't say why, only that he helped you out of a tight spot a while ago. Can I ask some questions about him?"

Cullen nodded jerkily. "Sure. I mean, I'll try to answer them as best I can. I never really got to know him."

"Well. . . can you tell me at least a little bit of what's going on?" she pressed. "Like. . . I had a brother, Logan. Do you know what happened to him?"

"He has a wife and child," Cullen said certainly. "He went to Denereim as uh... a blacksmith's apprentice. He's doing really well. And, well, they talk about _you_ a lot. Or they did when I went to dinner with them. Your dad had a lot of white hairs, and he has a thick black beard... your mom has black, short hair, and she looks really middle-aged. . . Uh. . ."

She smiled a little shyly at him. "I'm sorry, I probably should even be making you remember people you've barely met," she apologized. "It's just that I get so curious about them, because I last saw them when I was six years old. Over. . . wow, ten years ago."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she told him, "about to turn eighteen. How old are you?"

He chuckled under his breath. "Twenty-three. You don't look seventeen–I thought you might be my age."

"And you don't look twenty-three," she shot back with a grin on her face.

He laughed. "I suppose we'll be able to tell when we get older."

"Perhaps," she edged. "I can't wait to finish my Harrowing and go on to the outside world, though. Have you ever been to Orzammar? You've probably seen a lot more of the outside life than I have."

"I heard it's not as grand as it seems," he said cautiously. "A lot of dwarven squabbles over power."

"A lot of people could say that about humans," she said indifferently.

"True. . ."

Cullen hung around a bit after making sure she was safe in her own bed, then shyly asked if she wanted anything to eat. Taking into account the overwhelming hunger that had driven her out of the sick wards in the first place, she politely declined. "Thanks so much for the offer, though," she said earnestly. "But seriously, I'm fine. Just a bit out of it."

He nodded nervously, bobbing his head back and forth like a woodpecker. "Of course. I'm not familiar with your magic very much. I heard about what you did, though. It was. . . much more advanced than I thought somebody was able to accomplish. You're, uhm, very strong."

"Thanks," she said wryly, a flutter of emotion in her chest causing her to look away. "Thank you. I'm sure you're just as great, though. We have different strengths, but it all amounts to the same in the end."

He dithered awkwardly on the spot for a moment, then burst out, "I'm sorry they took you away from your family. It was wrong, and I'd help if I knew how."

He fell abruptly silent and his chin lowered a fraction as if he were waiting for judgement. Abigail stared at him, blinking in sudden shock, and wondered if she were still asleep. "That's. . . very kind," she said, surprised. "I never expected that from a Templar."

"Not all of us like bossing people around," he muttered, his face beet red now. "I-I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't even be talking to you about this."

"Either way," she said gently, "thanks for doing that. It's refreshing." She tried to smile encouragingly up at him.

"Uh, okay. Well, whenever you need a, er, refreshing conversation I'm here. Third corridor, working weekdays." He forced a shy smile and dawdled, obviously wanting to make for the door but unaware how to do so in a polite manner. Finally: "I should probably be getting back to my patrol, then."

She lifted one hand in a solitary farewell. "Welcome to the Circle of Magi, Templar." She smiled at him to let him know it was a joke and he chuckled. She lay down on Sarah's bunk and heard him make his retreat. Feeling still a bit confused and pleased with their conversation, Abigail closed her eyes. Now, time for a nice sleep. . .

It seemed like such a short time later when Abigail woke to the sounds of conversations from the end of the hall. She rose to her feet at once before she realized why and knelt next to her chest to pretend she was doing something. She was still half-asleep as she opened the chest and began to place her school things inside of it. She heard the girls entering the dorm, chatting about their most recent classes, and nobody seemed to pay her any mind until–

Somebody slapped her shoulder. Just as quickly she was drawn into a hug. "I heard everything," Caterina said, squeezing her tightly. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to his office?"

Her friend released her just as quickly, looking at her with a rapt, attentive expression, and Abigail took a moment to gather her bearings. "Caterina–Cat, you have to listen to me," she said earnestly, placing a weak hand on her shoulder. "Swear you'll tell _nobody!_"

"I swear! What happened? I was so–"

"A Grey Warden is here," Abigail whispered, placing her mouth close to her ear so the passing Apprentices wouldn't be able to hear. Caterina let out a strangled yelp. "Shush! He's recruited Wynn and some guy to help fight in King Cailan's army. There's a _Blight,_ can you believe that? And they need all the mages they can get! And I bet Irving called me up early so I could eavesdrop on their conversation, because he knows I would. And they all left, except for the Warden. I went into Irving's office and he told me to do some really, really hard things... and I passed out. But when I woke up I realized that he was evaluating me for the Grey Warden, who I didn't see. _He was hiding in the wardrobe._ Don't you realize what that means?"

Caterina gaped at her openly, her eyes wide. "Abby–? Oh, Maker! Why is it always _you?_"

"I don't know," Abigail said honestly. "I truly wish it wasn't."

"A Blight?" Caterina was whispering, shaking her head. Her hands were shaking. "That can't be true, all of the darkspawn were killed in the last one–"

"I don't know if it's true or not, but Duncan, the Warden, he seems to think so. And Irving, he asked Duncan to stay for a few days more if he can spare it. They'll never let me leave as an Apprentice, Caterina–my Harrowing will be tomorrow!"

Caterina's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Maker," she said shakily. "Allan won't tell me anything about it, but he was so scared when he woke up. It's horrible, I know it is!"

"I think I have to go into the Fade."

"To do _what?_"

"What do you think?"

They stared at each other for another long moment and her friend let out a trembling breath. "Oh, man... _oh,_ man... Now I know why they never tell us. I can't believe they'd do that! No wonder some people never come back! Abby, you _have_ to be prepared. I-I'll help you, I-I'll get you some nice books from the library–"

She shook her head and cut straight to the point of things. "Where's Jowan?"

She winced. "He went to go see you yesterday. I would have, too, but Enchanter Wynne wanted me to grab a few things from Owain. He came back all scared-looking and Allan, he told me what happened because he was there, too. They said you were so out of it. You woke up and asked what time it was and said you didn't feel good, then you just passed out again. Jowan wouldn't talk about it. I think he's really, really worried. He's probably at the sick hall now–hey!"

Abigail had tried to get up at her words and swayed where she stood. "I need to talk to him–"

"_Hell_ no. Get into your bunk and _I'll_ get him." Caterina wouldn't take no for an answer and made her climb the ladder on to the top bed. "And I'll bring you food, too. Have you eaten? No? Well, you're going to need it for your Harrowing, and you will eat it _all_, understand?"

Caterina came back less than a half hour later with two large ham sandwiches in one hand and a canteen in her other. "I couldn't find Jowan," she said apologetically, climbing into the bed to sit across from her. "Raphael is taking a swim with a group of guys and I can't get down to tell him you're okay, either. I hope they get back before curfew breaks."

Abigail ate the food gratefully, amazed at her sudden hunger. "'fanks," she said though a mouthful of bread.

Caterina nodded, still looking nervous. "I asked Sarah if we could switch beds, just for one night, so I'll _know_ when they take you for the Harrowing. Are you sure it will be tonight?"

She swallowed a large bite of food and took a swig from the canteen of water. "Positive," she said when her mouth was cleared. "Duncan can't dawdle long. He's already sent Wynne and that guy ahead of him, and he made it clear to the First Enchanter that he can't afford to wait forever."

"Ooooh, man. . ."

Abigail bit her lip, looking towards her knees as she asked cautiously, "Is Jowan still mad at me?"

"No! Of course not!" was her quick response. Abigail glared at her, and she withered under the stare. "Okay. . . I don't know," she said honestly. "But when you were in there he went to you right away, so I don't think he is any more. Are you?"

She shook her head. "I _can't_ be," she said.

"I know." Caterina winced with mental pain and ran a few fingers through her hair. "Hey. . . in case I can't find him tomorrow, can I put one of your sketchbooks underneath his pillow? I remember how you guys used to exchange them. . ."

She shook her head quickly. That was too much. "No," she said shortly, then softened. "No, I don't like that idea."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault. It's just. . . I need to give it to him. As a truce, you know?"

"Obviously," Caterina said, nodding. She plucked at a few loose strings on Abigail's covers, then straightened. "Well, I'll let you keep eating, and then go to sleep, okay? I need to study for a test tomorrow, even though I feel like doing less. . ."

Abigail agreed and Caterina let herself down. Even in her exhausted state it was a long time before she fell asleep, and she could tell Caterina was awake below her, her heart pounding, and somehow the panic steadied her own heart.

_I'm ready. I can do this._

She opened her eyes at four in the morning on the dot and wasn't surprised at all to see Irving in front of her, staring into her eyes. "Your Harrowing is upon you," he whispered. "Do you choose to proceed?"

She nodded grimly and climbed down the ladder. Irving guided her out towards the halls and she met two Templars there–Knight-Commander Greagoir and Cullen. While the former looked calm and professional, the latter seemed nauseous. Irving took the lead and the two fell into an honor guard behind her. They ascended the stairs to the top of the Tower, saying nothing, and Abigail felt no fear. This was _right._

She'd never explored the top part of the Tower before, for it was strictly prohibited. She looked around eagerly at the large circular room and at the alter at the center. A large goblet stood upon the stone structure, filled to the brim with a silvery blue substance she recognized instantly as liquid lyrium, which would transport her to the Fade.

They proceeded to the ritualistic rites, quoting the Prophetess Andraste in her account of the downfall of the Tevinter Imperium, and she listened with a rapt attention.

Irving waved his hand towards the goblet and she took a step foreword. Raising it to her lips, she drank.


	9. A Note

Dear Readers,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for keeping up with Abigail and Jowan towards the end of_ Loyalty's Shadow: Part I. _It's been too long since I posted an update and I apologize, but if you check out my author tab you'll notice I'm also working on a new fic titled _Entanglement_, which follows Commander Shepard's journey to show the Collectors the meaning of the word 'pain.'

Abigail's adventures will continue in _Loyalty's Shadow: Part II,_ which will answer one question I'm sure you're all wondering: What happened to Teresa after she escaped all of those years ago? Keep an eye out, it's coming in as a separate story!

May the Force be with you. May the Maker send you on your way. Keelah se'lai.

C-I


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